


A Wonderful Waste of Time

by ipomea



Series: almost nothing [1]
Category: Death Stranding (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Appearances from and references to various preppers, Babies, Developing Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Found Family, Fragile's a lesbian, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Personal Growth, Pining, Post-Canon, Roommates, Slow(ish) build, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:20:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 75,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26309953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ipomea/pseuds/ipomea
Summary: Higgs inexplicably finds himself back in the world of the living. He returns to the only place he has to go, only to discover he's not alone.Post-canon, so major game spoilers abound.
Relationships: Sam Porter Bridges & Higgs Monaghan, Sam Porter Bridges/Higgs Monaghan
Series: almost nothing [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2049345
Comments: 60
Kudos: 142





	1. Accidents Waiting to Happen

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go, my 24350293523 word (not really) Higgs-centric fic.   
> Just a little note, but I believe Higgs' journal entry from the Beach is an admission of guilt/remorse, which I'm not sure how common or uncommon of an interpretation that is. There's also a fair bit of headcanons in here, because what else do we have with a character who spends much of the story as an unreliable narrator who we only get a glimpse into the true nature of? But they are of course based on little bits and hints from canon and me hyperanalyzing and thinking way too much about this character.

Higgs wakes up with his face planted in the ground, surrounded by black sand and the smell of salt. He figures it's just another day—if they existed here—stranded on the Beach. He'd gotten used to it, sitting in his hubris for hours on end, analyzing every bit of his pathetic and short life. Something seems amiss now, though. There's a feeling in the pit of his stomach working its way up to his throat. In an instant, he's throwing up a seemingly endless stream of black tar.

_Well, shit._

He tries to stand up slowly, his _everything_ hurts and the sand feels like it's going to swallow him whole. His muscles have the structural integrity of jelly after going unused for so long, at least in this corporeal form. By some miracle, he makes it on his feet and looks up at the big blue sky mocking him.

"Couldn't just let me live out my days in peace, could you?" he spits out into the sea, unsure if he’s cursing God or Amelie. "You want me to suffer more, then? Fine."

His fatigues are soaking wet and marred with sand and tar, his head is killing him, and his stomach threatens to empty its contents again. None of this makes sense, he _should_ have been stranded on that Beach with no way out, he was supposed to be. Yet, _something_ had clawed its way through the Seam and pulled him back into the world of the living. He hasn't a clue what, he doesn't even want to begin to contemplate it right now. What he needs is to rest. The memory of that worn out and far-too-small cot felt like the most luxurious, downy king-sized bed to him after sleeping with his back planted in that black sand for so long.

He has to get back to that cramped shelter. Naturally, he considers the possibility that Bridges and the UCA have torn the place apart after he'd given Sam entry, but there's nowhere else to go. Closing his eyes, he conjures up the image of pizza boxes, scattered novels, and empty bottles, and tries to jump. A minute passes. Nothing. He squeezes his eyes shut harder and pictures the minute details in his mind; the different albums on the shelf above his cot, individual photos of Sam, every word he's written on those walls. Still nothing.

"Oh, you have to be fucking kidding me," he mutters.

That doll Amelie had given him was long gone, along with her quipu, and his mask. Evidently, the powers she had given him were gone as well. With nothing else to do, he starts trudging through the sand. Every step is harder than the last, but anything is better than staying in one spot and letting his thoughts consume him. He makes his way through the scattered remains of UCA-41-011, slowly regaining his bearings with every step.

The trek through the mountains isn’t too bad, all thanks to a few well-placed ziplines. He even manages to stop and wash off at a hot spring on the way. It’s almost relaxing, _almost._ The important thing is to keep moving so he doesn’t have time to think.

He makes it to the former Demens territory north of Mountain Knot. It seems like some crazy nightmare to be there now that it’s a completely abandoned and barren wasteland. He makes his way towards the camp, praying that he might find some water to wash out the lingering taste of tar in his mouth. Instead, all he can see is countless ruined containers of ceramics and metals. The rusted metal of a truck peeks out at him from the other side of the camp and he runs towards it like it's going to disappear if he waits a second longer. It’s near ruined, but it looks like it can hold together for the rest of his journey, so he slides over onto the leather seats and puts his hands on the wheel.

"Start you piece of shit," he hisses, slamming his boot down on the pedal.

Complaining works, as it always does, and he hits the roads Sam had so graciously built. He drives at full speed past distro centre after distro centre, paying no mind to the Timefall that starts to fall from the sky. 

The truck craps out on him when he reaches the ruins of Middle Knot. It feels like some karmic vengeance, forcing him to confront the city he’d decimated up close. He’d been past here many times before, but it's different now. For the first time, there's the insufferable weight of guilt weighing heavily on his shoulders. So many lives lost, and for what? To prove his allegiance to the _'sweet little angel of death'_ that barely acknowledged him as a human being? All he can do is laugh at himself as Timefall continues to come down hard.

It feels like a breath of fresh air when he reaches his old shelter. Back to that stuffy hidey-hole that was littered with books and pizza boxes and other assorted trash—the place he belonged. There didn’t seem to be signs of forced entry from the distance, but he notes the presence of a reverse trike parked outside. It wasn’t Bridges issue, it's for personal use. It’s something of a relief, but still worrying all the same.

He knocks on the cold metal door of the shelter and waits a good minute for an answer. _Someone_ has to be here, though. Otherwise, there wouldn't be a trike parked out front. He raps on the door harder this time and doesn't let up until he hears the shuffle of _something_ on the other side. The door swings open wide and there stands Sam, looking annoyed and half-asleep. Higgs smiles.

"What the hell do you—" Sam stops short and his eyes go wide when they meet his own.

"What's wrong?" Higgs chuckles nervously. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I thought you were dead," Sam manages.

"Yeah, I did too," he laughs. "You got any water?"

Without any further words, Sam lets him in. He's definitely on guard, but Higgs wouldn't expect any less. Their last meeting was a grand fight to the death, after all. Or so they thought. Sam seats him at a table outside the main room and fills a pitcher with tap water.

"Thanks, really," Higgs rasps and pours himself a glass. He greedily chugs half the contents at once.

"So," Sam starts, furrowing his brow and scratches at his beard in confusion. " _How_ the hell are you here?"

"Well, that's something I'm afraid I don't have the answer to. I was there on the Beach, and then I wasn't." Higgs sighs and takes another generous swig of water. "If I knew, I'd tell you, but I'm just as in the dark about it as you."

Sam stares at him in complete shock. He looks as if he's trying to find something to say and failing miserably. The silence bears down on them like an intolerable heat. Yet neither of them know where to start. There were far too many questions to ask and too few answers.

"How long's it been?" Higgs clears his throat and cuts through the quiet abruptly.

"About two years and change," Sam answers bluntly.

"Christ almighty," Higgs hisses. "Felt like a damn century."

"Well…" Sam stops and searches for words. "After you left this place open we moved in here, didn't really have anywhere else to go."

"We?" Higgs spits up water. "Who's we?"

"Louise," he says. "Uh…the BB."

Higgs snaps his gaze upwards. "Your _bridge baby?_ How in the hell…”

"Yeah, I don't know. Goddamn miracle, if you ask me. Don't think it can be explained any other way."

Higgs sighs and pours himself another glass of water. His thirst isn’t going away at all, and his throat’s still raw from tar and bile. He takes his surroundings in carefully, it’s a hell of a lot different from how he'd left it, even here in the corridor. Sam had put together some semblance of a kitchen where all his junk had once been. There’s a hot plate and a toaster oven on the desk, and a small fridge and deep freezer underneath it. Most of the food is messily stocked in half-opened cargo containers, but it’s still much cleaner than it had ever been before. He’d also organized his shelves and placed the storage lockers from the other room beside them.

"I like what you've done with the place, Sam. In much better shape than I ever kept it."

"I did the best I could with what was here, that's for sure."

"You calling me a slob?"

"I think someone with 20 empty pizza boxes laying around could be called a slob," Sam snorts.

Higgs cracks up in kind. It's an odd moment. There they were, former mortal enemies, laughing together at the dinner table. The ease in tension is palpable.

"When you opened that door, I was braced for a sucker punch in the gut, y’know," Higgs says, wiping a tear from his eye. "I probably deserve it, and then some."

"You might," Sam replies, his voice serious and monotone again. "Thing is, I read your journals, all of them. I think I understand now."

Higgs gingerly taps on the table. "Guess that saves me a bit of explaining, then."

"Yeah."

"I had a lot of time to think on that Beach. About all of _that_ , and everything that came after," Higgs looks Sam dead in the eye. "I think I always wanted you to win, Sam. You reminded me so much of myself when I was just a porter—before I met Amelie."

" _Amelie_ ," he repeats, and his expression goes sour. "We were both thrown for a loop on that one, huh."

"You built something out of it, though. Something much better than what I thought I wanted, that's for sure."

"I did, and I don't regret it, but the next time the UCA needs an errand boy to save the world, I'm out," Sam concedes. "Bridges can go to hell for all I care."

"Damn right," Higgs raises his glass and cocks his eyebrow. "After all the shit they put you through."

"You don't know the half of it," he mutters. "But that's a long story for another time. You hungry?"

He isn't, not really, but eating for the first time in over two years seems like a good idea. Sam fishes through a box and hands him a couple of protein bars. The sensation of chewing is foreign to him now, his jaw keeps locking up and the burn in his throat doesn't help either. He finishes them quick enough, though, figures it might help his body recuperate from whatever scientific phenomenon he's been through.

"It's late," Sam says, tucking his hair behind his ear nervously. "Your cot's still here, it'll be a tight fit but we can make it work."

Higgs stands in the doorway of the bedroom and takes in what he can in the darkness. His collection of photos of Sam were gone from the walls, a collection of colourful crayon scribbles taking their place. The skulls he’d had on his desk were also gone, but the mask of Tutankhamun remains, adorned with a Bridges cap. Sam puts his cot out in its familiar spot, underneath shelves full of books and records. His own bed is placed where the storage lockers had been, and there’s a crib beside it against the wall. He cautiously approaches it, noting the mobile of little trinkets hanging above; a Ludens figure, a plush cryptobiote, a silver bell, and a teru teru bozu.

"Can I see her?" he asks, looking up at Sam for approval.

"Sure, but if you wake her up I _will_ sucker punch you."

Higgs stands over the crib and peers down at the tiny form below him. He hadn't seen a baby like this before, not really, he'd only seen them underdeveloped and through inches of plexiglass. It’s a striking difference from what he'd seen in the pod before. Lou has thick, curly blonde hair, and she’s at least twice the size now. She sleeps with her arms outstretched over her head and a plush pink blanket draped over her body. Something he wasn’t aware was in his heart flutters when she kicks her little legs out and rolls over on her side.

Sam comes up beside him and reaches his hand down to gently brush the hair out of her face. "She's cute, isn't she?"

"Yeah," he gives Sam a warm smile.

"Here's a change of clothes, they're mine so I dunno how well they'll fit you.”

He ducks into the corridor and painstakingly peels his fatigues off. The dip in the hot springs had gotten rid of most of the tar, but they were still dried hard in some places and stunk like saltwater. As he’d thought, Sam's clothes are too wide and definitely too short. The singlet hangs off his shoulders awkwardly and barely manages to cover his stomach. He has to yank hard at the drawstrings of the sweatpants to keep them above his hips, and the cuffs stop at his mid-calf. He looks ridiculous, he's well aware, but it’s far more comfortable.

Sam’s leaning back on his bed when he returns. He gives him a courteous nod and sits down on the cot. They sit in the quiet, visible anxieties fogging up the air. Higgs clears his throat, gets ready to speak, and then chokes. He keeps trying until he finally gets the momentum going.

"It's not like I'm not grateful you let me in and everything," he starts, nervously fidgeting with his thumbs. "But _why_ the hell did you let me in? After all the shit I did to you, and to _her?"_

Sam lets out a small sigh and sits upright. "You've changed. I can feel it."

"That doesn't change anything I've done, Sam," replies Higgs, looking through the soft light at Sam's face. "I can't undo any of that."

"You're right," Sam leans forward and looks up at him with cold blue eyes. "The things you've done can never be made right."

"My question remains then, Sam," he presses on. "Why?"

"If you were gonna try something, you'd've done it the second I opened that door, for one," he pauses, gives himself a moment to find the right words. "I've had a lot of time to think, too, Higgs. We were both pulled into this shit, manipulated, lied to. We were just means to an end. When I read those journals, I knew why she chose you. Deep down you're still that scared kid, you were looking for anything to hold onto, and that's what she gave you. That pisses me off more than anything she made you do. You didn't deserve that, neither of us did. But we were just too easy."

Sam's not far from the mark. Higgs feels like his back is being pressed against the wall and it makes him sweat, just a little. His chin quivers for a second, and there's a tear welling up in the corner of his eye. _Shit, shit._ Crying right now would be too pathetic, even for him. He has to do something to deflect before he ends up bawling in front of him.

"Ho—ly shit, Sam," he chuckles artificially and smooths a hand over his beard. "That's the most I've heard you talk, ever."

"Don't get used to it," he grumbles. "I'm going to sleep."

A few rustles of sheets later, and Sam's asleep. Higgs lays on his side and watches the steady rise and fall of his shoulders. The tears bear their way through quickly enough when he's certain Sam's out cold. He covers his mouth to suppress the sobs as tears roll down his cheeks onto the cot.

* * *

Higgs wakes up to the smell of cinnamon wafting in through the door. He could fall back asleep right there, lulled by the earthy and sweet scent. He almost does, until he hears the sound of child's laughter from the other room. He swings his sore legs over the edge of the cot and stands up slowly. He hangs in the doorway and watches Sam slowly bring a spoonful of porridge up to Lou's lips. She keeps her lips pursed and crosses her arms in defiance in her high chair.

"C'mon Lou," Sam pleads desperately with her. "You like porridge, what's wrong?"

After a moment she opens her mouth and Sam looks relieved. Until she blows against the spoon and splatters the cereal across Sam's face.

Higgs lets out a snort and Sam shoots a scornful gaze up at him. "Can you get me a towel instead of just standing there?"

"Yeah, yeah, got it."

"Help yourself," Sam gestures toward the pot on the table as he wipes oats out of his beard.

"Thanks."

He sits down opposite them, feeling awfully out of place in his own home. Louise turns her head toward him as he reaches for the ladle in the pot, and her face immediately scrunches up in contempt.

"Bad," she spits, shaking her fist at him. "Daddy, bad."

Higgs stops, turns to face Sam, who looks back at him with a worried expression. "Lou, this is Daddy's friend now."

The corners of his mouth curl up into a cocksure smirk. "Friend, huh?"

"Don't push it," Sam mutters through clenched teeth.

Louise shakes her head and knits her brows at her father. "No."

"I'll, uh, go eat in the other room," Higgs says, lifting up the bowl and standing up slowly.

"It's alright," Sam grabs his arm and pulls him back down into the chair. "She's just a little protective."

They sit in silence for the rest of the meal. Lou looks over her shoulder with a cross expression every time she hears the clink of his spoon hitting the bowl. He knows he deserves it, but it still feels like a shot in the gut.

"Sorry about that," Sam sighs as he picks up their empty dishes.

"I deserve it, it's okay, really," Higgs replies, eyeing Lou cautiously.

Sam clearly couldn't argue with that. He _did_ shoot at her, for chrissakes. Even if he's changed, her memory would always come back to each and every moment in which he'd tried to hurt her and her father. Children were smart that way, they didn't give in to words of reason and excuses like adults did.

Higgs takes himself back to his cot to give Lou some space. He takes down a stack of books and spreads them out beside him; Shakespeare's _Macbeth_ and _Antony and Cleopatra_ , Oscar Wilde's _Picture of Dorian Gray,_ Fyodor Dostoevsky's _Notes from Underground_ lay among countless texts of Egyptian history and religion, all worn and dog-eared. He settles on _Notes from Underground_ for now and peruses through pages of dutifully underlined text. He can still remember how he felt when he read it for the first time. It was shortly after he'd met Amelie, and he'd felt as if this Russian author from hundreds of years ago had written the contents of his psyche out for the world to see.

It feels different now, though. Still nostalgic, but in a somber way. He feels the instinctive tug back to those days when his head was so rotten and filled with her putrid words that he'd snapped beyond mend. Any semblance of his former self—that dedicated porter who lived for the smile upon clients' faces—gone forever. Sam was right when he said she'd chosen him to be his foil for a reason. It wasn't his fated for extinction as he had thought back then. It was because he was weak and all too susceptible to her sweet whispers of death and destruction.

He's been trying to read the same passage for ten minutes. The state of his spiraling psyche refuses to let him take in a single word. He tosses the novel behind his shoulder and submits to the will of his mind. Being back here almost felt worse than being stranded on that Beach with nothing but a gun that wouldn't kill him no matter how many times he tried pulling the trigger. All his sins face him headlong here, those familiar walls staring down at him just like they had before. They'd seen him do unspeakable things. And so had Sam.

 _Sam._ He could hear that gravely voice come in softly from the other room. It comforts him more than he'd care to admit.

* * *

Higgs doesn't know when he fell asleep, but he's startled awake by a tap on the shoulder.

"Hey," Sam speaks softly. "You up? Dinner's ready."

"How long have I been asleep for?"

"Uh, all day. Lou's napped twice already."

He rubs his eyes and props himself up on his elbows. "Shit."

"You obviously needed it."

He shoves himself off the cot and follows Sam out into the corridor, still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He picks up the scent of garlic and oregano instantly and his eyes go wide. “You didn’t!”

“It’s frozen stuff. I’m not sure how it compares to the fresh stuff you had me hauling across mountains.”

Plain cheese pizza was never his favourite, he’d always preferred copious amounts of cured Italian meats piled upon each slice, but after two years this slightly burnt frozen pizza looks like the best pie he’s ever seen. He picks up a slice without hesitation and shoves half of it into his mouth. The taste almost brings him to tears. That familiar, comforting combination of cheese and tomato brought him back to the days when his only solace in life was ordering a pizza from Sam and devouring it all in one sitting. Sam had clearly anticipated him being particularly ravenous, as he’s made a separate pizza for himself and Lou.

“Just a sec, Lou,” Sam says as she stretches her little hands towards the plate. He starts cutting it with a fork and knife and Higgs gives him a scowl.

“Oh, come on, don’t cut it up like that. That’s a cryin’ transgression against the whole human race.”

Sam drops the knife and fork and stares daggers at Higgs. “She doesn’t have all her teeth yet, you know that, right?”

Admittedly, he didn’t.

“I’m just kidding around,” he laughs and dramatically raises his hands in surrender. “We really have to work on that sense of humour, don’t we?”

Sam mutters something incomprehensible under his breath and continues cutting Lou’s slices into bite-sized pieces.

Higgs downs an entire pizza before Sam’s even managed to eat half of his. He eyes the remains on the pan eagerly, hoping to make off with it if he can. When Sam wipes his face with a napkin he has a silent moment of triumph.

“Are you gonna eat that?” he asks, staring up at Sam with puppy dog eyes.

“You just ate an entire pizza.”

“First time having pizza in over two years, ‘course I’m going to go all out.”

“Don’t keep me up when you’re sick all night."

Louise completely ignores his presence at the table tonight. She keeps her eyes fixed on Sam and dissects pieces of pizza with tiny fingers. Higgs watches in agony as she strips the layers of cheese off the tops of each piece and eats them separately. It almost feels like she’s doing it on purpose as payback for what he’d done to her before. She takes a wary bite out of the crust and spits out, knocking the rest of the pieces to the ground.

Sam just laughs and says, “You don’t like the crust then? Okay.”

It's in stark contrast to his childhood. He could recall receiving a particularly bad lashing from his uncle after leaving a mere spoonful of cold soup left in the can. But Sam isn't at all like that. He’s gentle and patient with Lou. He’d always thought everyone had gone through the same childhood tribulations as he had, but here he is being proven wrong.

“What’re you grinning about?” Sam looks back at him while he wipes tomato sauce off Lou’s cheeks.

“Nothing,” he says. “It’s nothing."

Sam looks at him with a raised eyebrow and goes back to cleaning up Lou’s mess.

* * *

He’s sprawled out on his cot again, reading some shitty mystery novel set in ancient Egypt that he hadn’t bothered picking up before. For good reason, it seems. The historical inconsistencies were causing his skin to itch, but it's just about the only book he had that wouldn’t lead him to ruminating about the past. 

Sam comes in with Lou in his arms, little hands clasped around his neck. He tries to lay her down into the crib but she refuses to let go of him. Higgs watches with one eye peeking out from behind his book. Sam pats her head and shushes her, gently bouncing her up and down in his arms. Her grasp finally goes slack and she closes her eyes and lets Sam put her down and tuck her in. He brushes her red cheek with his thumb and shuffles off into bed.

Higgs puts his book down on his chest and looks over at Sam. “Thanks for dinner tonight, I mean it,” he blurts it out like vomit.

Sam flips shaggy hair out of his eyes and gives him a smile which makes his heart drop. “No problem.”

 _Fuck._ He can feel his cheeks go red. “Thanks,” he repeats himself awkwardly and covers his face up with the book.

“Night.”

“Goodnight.”

As he watches the gentle rise and fall of Sam’s chest under the covers, he feels an insurmountable sadness possess him from toe to tip. He isn’t the slightest bit tired after sleeping the whole day, all he can do is stare ahead with glassy eyes. All his thoughts are about how much he wants to touch Sam, just a chaste brush against his cheek with his knuckle, or a quick pat on the shoulder. Something, anything.

Sam’s hospitality confounded him. It may be _his_ home, technically, but he feels like Sam should just be throwing him scraps and making him sleep on the floor like a dog. The pizza had touched him deeply, even if he’d had it laying around in the freezer before he’d even arrived. By some strange stretch of the word, Sam seems to care about him. There's also a distinctly different attitude about him now, the way he carries himself is softer, more airy. That gruff pessimist he'd first met seemed so far away now.

He'd always thought his frantic obsession with Sam could be blamed on those hypnotic golden crystals Amelie liked to cover him in. But as all the other effects waned—the dizzying visions of the human extinction, the violent thoughts, the madness—that fixation with Sam remained intact. He thought of him often as he lay on that endless Beach, much like he'd done countless nights before in this very cot. The only difference is that Sam is here now, but he feels further away than ever before.

Suddenly it becomes clear in his mind. He had always known it, but he’d never examined it closely enough. He _loves_ Sam, he had loved him from the very first time he'd tracked him down on that corpse disposal detail so long ago. He recalls watching in reverent adoration as Sam managed to crawl back from the dead amidst that scene of destruction. That’s when he knew that he truly was a beacon of light among the darkness.

Amelie had despised when he'd go off on his little jaunts to terrorize Sam, but there was no helping himself. Of course, after his little experiment at Central Knot he was well aware that any attempt to snuff out Sam's life was futile. Conjuring up those pretty little beasts to chase Sam across stretches of tar filled him with a vigor he had never felt before. He knew that in the worst-case scenario Sam would repatriate. It was all just a selfish little game to him. All he’d ever wanted was to see him, everything else was secondary.

Maybe chiral contamination made people express love in strange ways.


	2. To Wish Impossible Things

A month passes quickly and slowly at the same time. The lack of seasons and day and night cycles have that effect. Higgs finds himself reluctantly readjusting to the world of the living with each passing day. Likewise, Louise comes to accept that he isn't leaving. She still clings to Sam's leg when he's in the room, but she's stopped referring to him as the 'bad guy' at the very least. He tries to keep his distance as much as possible, but Sam firmly insists on the three of them eating meals together. Luckily, Higgs has never been much of a lunch person, anyway.

Orders come and go, all addressed to Higgs’ old moniker, Peter Englert. Sam had taken it up shortly after moving into his shelter. His correspondents were well aware of his true identity, though. The emails he receives never refer to him as Peter, nor do they refer to him as Sam. They’re all addressed simply to 'The Legend'. He'd pestered Sam enough to get him to order second-hand books, he desperately needed books that weren't just dour voyages through fatalism and existentialism.

Higgs sits outside with his legs stretched out on those black rocks that spread endlessly through the area. He's feverishly devouring one of the books Sam passed on to him—The Egyptian by Mika Waltari. He'd just received it the day before, but he’s already over halfway through it. There isn’t much else to do but read now that he doesn’t have any other obligations. He couldn't exactly go anywhere, not that he has a destination in mind.

Sam opens the heavy metal door with a creak and taps on it to get his attention. "Dinner."

"Yeah, yeah. Just a couple pages left in the chapter," he says while waving him off.

"Nah, you're coming now," Sam snatches the book from his hands and bolts down the stairs.

"Bastard," he murmurs and follows Sam back inside.

Tonight Sam had prepared spaghetti with a rather orange-hued tomato sauce and unspecified chunks of ground meat. It doesn’t look too appetizing, but not wholly offensive either. It sits unceremoniously in the middle of the table, still in the heavy metal pot he'd prepared it in. Higgs seats himself and Sam generously divides the contents of the pot between the three of them.

"It's been _so_ long since we had pizza," Higgs whines petulantly. "Two weeks now!"

Sam looks up at him with brows crossed. "It's pasta, isn't that basically the same thing?"

Higgs gives him an exasperated gasp and crosses his arms. "Well, I never."

Sam rolls his eyes. "Eat it or don't. I don't care."

He draws back the staged discontent and digs in haphazardly. Sam’s dead wrong about pasta and pizza being the same thing, but it’s better than anything he could've whipped up. If he had been left to his own devices he likely would have eaten an entire bag of potato chips chased with a bottle of vodka and passed out for the night. At least Sam's cooking is edible and easier on the liver.

Lou picks up a noodle and flings it at Sam's face. "Got you!"

Sam closes his eyes unflinchingly as a smattering of tomato sauce drips down onto his forehead. Higgs lets out a stifled snort and picks up his fork, loading it up with a piece of tomato and launching it at Sam's cheek. It plops down into Sam's lap and he grunts in annoyance.

"You make me feel like I'm looking after _two_ kids sometimes," Sam mutters under his breath.

"It's all in good fun, ain’t that right Louise?" he says, looking down at the sauce-covered toddler.

Her expression changes from one of delight to one of total perplexion. Higgs had never spoken to her directly before, always too afraid of stepping on toes, but now he's done it without thinking. Lou stares up into Higgs' eyes with wonder, as if reconsidering everything she knows to be true.

She breaks her gaze after a long moment and turns towards her father. "All done."

Sam pulls her half-full bowl of pasta towards him. "There's still more here, Lou."

"All done," she repeats firmly and pouts her lips out at him.

She returns to staring at Higgs, her little blue eyes burning holes in him. He can’t tell if this is a good or bad thing. She seems to be thinking hard, her face scrunching up and then relaxing repeatedly. After a while, she pulls at the tray on her high chair and groans.

"Out," she yells. "I want out!"

Sam thoroughly wipes her down to the best of his ability and takes her out of the chair. She waddles off into the other room and picks up one of her dolls and gives it a harsh smack.

"Hey! That's not nice Lou." Sam chides. 

She blows a raspberry at Sam and turns to play with her alphabet blocks instead.

Higgs feels thoroughly perturbed by everything that has just transpired. He didn’t know what it meant, if it even meant anything at all. For a moment he’d really thought Lou was warming up to him, he'd thought he'd seen something in her change. Perhaps the abuse of the doll was entirely unrelated, and she was just a kid being a kid. But the unfolding of events made it highly unlikely. He didn't feel much like eating now, either, so he settles for idly picking through pasta while he waits for Sam to finish.

Sam drops the fork in his bowl and looks up at Higgs. "There's something I need to talk to you about."

 _Fuck_. He immediately assumes the worst, trying to figure out what he's done to deserve a 'talking to'. Did he figure out where all of Lou's yogurt tubes had gone? Or was it something deeper; like he'd finally come to his senses about the whole harboring a terrorist thing? His blood runs cold and his heart starts thudding madly.

"A while back, this couple I used to make deliveries for said me and Lou could move into their shelter by the end of this month. That's coming up soon now."

The wind is knocked out of him at once. He curls his fingers into his palms until his knuckles go bright white. 

"I see," he manages through gritted teeth.

"There's two bedrooms, and a real kitchen. Washer and dryer too, a bathroom with an actual shower, y'know, not just a hose outside," Sam chuckles and scratches his beard.

He stops and waits for Higgs to say something, crack some sort of joke about the mushroom patch growing outside but nothing comes.

"You can have this place to yourself again," he continues. "It did us well when we had nowhere else to go, so…thanks."

The tears welling up in Higgs’ eyes threaten to spill over with every second that passes.

"You're welcome," he says stiffly. "Can I have my book back?"

"Oh, yeah." 

Sam fetches it from the shelf in his room and Higgs turns tail the second it's in his hand.

He sprints up those metal stairs and as soon as he’s outside he slumps down on the door and puts his head in his hands. He feels like such a fool for believing this idyllic life could go on forever. Of course, Sam wouldn’t be raising his daughter in a two-room shelter that barely has enough room for the three of them to sleep. But he’s gotten so used to Sam’s presence that he couldn’t imagine his departure. The thought of no longer waking up to the smell of Sam’s cooking and the sound Lou’s little laugh was too much to bear. But this approaching reality stares down at him in terrible clarity.

The cold, dry air brushing against his cheeks reflects his emotional turmoil. He looks out at that endless expanse of dark, rocky terrain feeling terribly alone. Even after narrowly escaping death, his fate has always been to be stuck underground, cut off from the world and everything in it. Just as he had lived as a young boy. There was no escaping it.

The feeling that he just isn’t _supposed_ to be alive lingered from his childhood. Wherever he went there was always a small voice telling him he didn’t belong there. It was the grouse voice of his uncle. He could still remember the feeling of that bastard's hands wrapped around his neck at no older than ten as he screamed in his face about how much of a burden he was. When he’d met Amelie he thought he had finally found his place as the trumpeter of extinction, but that, too, fell apart before his eyes. Now that persistent voice returns, but instead of a whisper, it’s now a shout that rattles his very core.

* * *

As much as he wants to hide outside forever, the heavy feeling of fatigue begins to wash over him. Bending to its will, he makes his way down that painfully long flight of stairs, wincing a little with every step at the idea of facing Sam in this dejected state. He breathes deeply and slaps his cheeks before he walks into the bedroom.

"Get it together," he whispers to himself.

Sam is already asleep. He thanks his lucky stars for that. That pitifully sullen look hasn't left his face for even a moment since Sam had broken the news to him, and it wasn't going to let up any time soon. He spreads himself out on the rough canvas of his cot and tries to sleep in vain. His mind whirls and his predilection to melancholia overtakes him. For the first time since returning from the Beach, he feels like dying.

Strangely, the thought of dying makes him think of Sam. He's always wondered why he couldn't seem to pass on from the Beach no matter how hard he tried. He'd tried bullets, his knife, even holding his head under the water. _Something_ refused to let his weary soul rest. But his desire for the Last Stranding quickly abated after Sam had so graciously beat the shit out of him, all that remained were precious memories of that battle. Sam's fists landing blows so hard they shattered bones. His cries of frustration. That poignant moment they had shared on the edge of extinction stretched out together in the afterglow of it all. Sam's smile. This sacred oil kept the flame of his soul alive.

It dawns on him now; this longing had kept him stranded on the Beach, refusing to let him leave. His _ka_ was filled with such a grievous desire to see Sam again that he was unable to depart into the endless abyss of nothingness waiting for him.

With this realization burning in his mind, Higgs turns over on his side to look at Sam. His pink lips and round cheeks gleam in the light emanating from the tiny night-light that rests on the desk ahead of them. Sam gently shifts in his sleep and his eyelashes flutter, that light brown hair falling about his face delicately. Sam's effortless beauty seems to serve to depress him even further. He draws his gaze back up to the ceiling, but Sam's face refuses to leave his mind.

The contentment he'd felt in Sam's presence had given way to these impossible wishes to spend the rest of their days together. Somewhere in his deluded mind, he had started to believe that things would continue as they were, forever. That maybe Sam would come to trust him. Maybe even come to see him as a companion. This illusion was quickly falling apart before him.

A piercing ache started to swell in his chest.

The pain brought a film of tears to his eyes. Sobs shook his body at once, trying to keep it at bay is too difficult for his tired mind. The feeling of heartache seeps right down into his viscera, causing an intolerable nausea to bubble up in his stomach. His sobs were turning into loud, dry heaves between cries of pain.

Something creaks on the other side of the room. "You crying?"

 _Shit_. He’d been caught dead to rights, and no explaining away could throw Sam off. 

"Sorry," he croaks quietly.

“It’s alright, I’m used to it with the kid,” Sam says, sitting up slowly. “What's wrong?”

The words, while well-intentioned, make him cry even harder. Higgs digs his fingernails so deep into his thighs that he breaks skin. He breathes in sharply and prepares to speak.

"Fucking hate this place," he cries, hiding his face in his hands. "It's worse than the goddamn Beach."

Sam stumbles out of bed and sits on bended knees in front of him.

"Look at me," he whispers, grabbing Higgs’ wrist gently. "Hey, look up at me."

Higgs sniffles and obeys reluctantly, rubbing tears out of red-raw eyes. He’s sure that he looks pathetic, he definitely feels it. Sam’s eyes are piercing as they look deep down into the vulnerable parts of his soul. It isn't a menacing gaze—it's a rather benevolent and patient look. He had never been looked at with such compassion before. It makes him want to look away or close his eyes, but he can't. All he can do is stare into those soft blue eyes.

"I thought something was off earlier," Sam whispers. "What is it?"

"There’s just…" Higgs stops to catch his breath. "There’s too many reminders of everything that’s happened here. I can't take it. I'm a fucking mess, Sam."

"Then come with us."

His jaw drops. "What?"

"Come with us," Sam repeats himself matter-of-factly.

"Just why the fuck would you want that? Everything I've done…" he trails off, unable to elaborate any further. 

"Listen to me. I don't give a shit about any of that anymore. I think I'm getting to know _you_ now, not the so-called leader of the Homo Demens," Sam’s tone is firm, yet tinged with kindness. "Me and you are the only people on the goddamn planet who could understand what we went through. And that makes everything else feel like such trivial bullshit."

Nothing in his words seems disingenuous. Still, Higgs finds it impossible to believe.

"I—" Higgs tries to speak, but emotion seizes him. "I don’t know what to say."

"Say yes."

He gives him a feigned smile through teary eyes. "Yes."

"It’ll be good," he says. “It’s in a pretty nice spot, not far from this beautiful waterfall.”

"Sounds nice," Higgs replies mechanically, still sniffling and rubbing tears out of his strained eyes.

Sam lets go of his wrist and sits back down in bed. "Sleep. We start packing tomorrow."

He lies back down in complete stupefaction, a bittersweet feeling gnawing at him. The catharsis of letting everything out left him too exhausted to think about all the implications of their conversation, or the hot sensation of Sam's grasp lingering on his skin. For the first time in a very long time, he drifts into an effortless sleep.

* * *

Higgs finds himself on that infinite Beach again. He shifts on the black sand and sits upright. He hadn't expected to ever see this place again, even in dreams.

"Higgs," _that_ voice calls out to him. _Her_ voice.

He doesn't respond. Heeled shoes puzzlingly make their way quickly through sand. The bright crimson of her dress comes into his peripheral vision. She crouches before him but he doesn't turn to face her, he keeps his head hanging down between his knees and runs his fingers through the wet granules of sand.

She clearly doesn't catch the 'fuck-off' message he's trying to give her. "It's good to see you again," that statement gets a good laugh out of him.

"You're not actually here, I'm dreaming," he says after a moment. "There's nothing left to forge a connection between you and I."

"You can believe what you like," she says. "But I'm sure you've been wondering why I sent you back."

" _You_ sent me back?" he scoffs in disbelief. "Figures. You didn’t put me through enough?"

"After everything…I wanted to give you a second chance."

That elicits a wild chuckle from him. "A second chance? Are you serious? I had a second chance, remember? I was doing good work as a porter ‘til I hooked up with the _sweet little angel of death_."

She lets out a sigh. "I’m sorry."

A tear rolls down her rosy cheeks and he groans in response, crossing his arms and holding his cold gaze on that drop of moisture. He entertains the idea for a moment; that it wasn’t just some strange mix-up that had placed him back on earth, and Amelie had, in fact, cast him out of the Beach before she disappeared forever. It didn’t fall too out of line with the way she was, but he couldn’t understand how it was some grand act of mercy. He had just made his peace with spending eternity there daydreaming of Sam among the marine corpses before he was so rudely thrust back into the world of the living.

"If, and that’s a pre—tty fucking large if, you really did send me back here for a so-called second chance, how do you suppose I go about that? Regardless of the truth, _I’m_ still the terrorist who almost brought the world to its end, and you’re the poor sweet girl who sacrificed herself to save us all."

"You’re with someone who cares about you now, Higgs," she says, giving him a mawkish smile. "Can’t you see that?"

"You?" Higgs laughs so hard he can’t breathe. "You care about _me_? After everything you put me through?"

"I’m not talking about myself."

"Sam? You can’t possibly think—"

"I don’t think. I know."

He balks at that, his lips purse straight in contempt. "He pities me. That’s all there is to it."

"Sam isn’t like that. You’ll see."

Another sickly smile and she’s gone. In an instant, the Beach seems to collapse upon itself. Black tar rains down from the sky, Higgs watches it crash into the water until nothing is left. Then it begins oozing toward him in waves and washes his lithe body away with it. He tries to keep his head above it at first, then his body goes slack against the pressure and he drowns somewhere deep below.

Higgs wakes with perspiration dripping down his forehead and his shirt sticking to his back. He gasps for air like his lungs are full of the same sticky black liquid from his dream.

Sam walks over slowly from the kitchen. "You alright?"

"I’m fine. Really," he says, but the heaving gasps coming from his mouth tell a different story.

Sam brushes cold knuckles against his forehead. "You’re burning up."

He attempts to get up from the cot and his knees give out on him. He falls at Sam’s feet and expels dark bile on the concrete until there’s nothing left. _How charming._

"Huh," is all he can manage before Sam picks him up and places him back on the cot.

Sam rushes off and returns with a damp cloth for his forehead. Higgs’ vision is a blur, but he can feel Sam wiping the vomit from his chin. He reaches his shaky arm up towards his face and cups it gently before laying back and giving him a wild toothy grin.

Amelie's words echo in his fevered mind—

_You'll see._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more sad higgs. when will it end??


	3. Starting Over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited by the lovely @catafalque. I've also gone back and edited the previous chapters and done a little cleaning after some great feedback from them--so go check out their work because this wouldn't be without them!

Higgs wakes to the sound of metal containers scraping against concrete. He rolls toward the wall and covers his ears. It had been another night of tossing and turning for hours on end, and he’s definitely feeling it in every inch of his body now. Sam's insistence on him getting a good night's sleep hadn't helped at all. The anticipation for their coming journey had kept him on edge all night.

Sam drops something at the foot of his cot, and the sound forces him upright. "Morning."

"Good morning," he mumbles, eyes still adjusting to the fluorescent light flitting in from the doorway. "Couldn't have tried a tap on the shoulder first?"

Sam stares down at him and says nothing. Higgs brushes his hair back with his fingers and looks down at the large silver containers below him.

"What do you want me to do with these?"

"Load them. Your backpack's on the table."

He languidly makes his way over to the table and brings the boxes with him. It's been a long time since he's worked with one of these packs. They've tweaked the design since his days as a porter; he can barely figure out how to fold it out. He packs up the four containers and fastens them in, then he collects his cot and rolls it up so he can attach it to the tool rack. It feels strange to be loading up cargo again. The last time he'd even touched one of these impact-resistant cases was when he’d given Sam that nuke at Lake Knot years ago.

Sam brings over an unmarked black box and taps on the lid. 

"These are, uh," he stops and rubs his bottom lip apprehensively, "Your pictures of me."

A lump rises in Higgs’ throat. When he'd opened his shelter for Sam, he knew what he was letting him into—all the secrets of his wretched soul. However, he hadn't expected to have to answer for them. Sam had made good work of not mentioning it until now.

"Right, yeah," he stammers. "I don't need them anymore, so…"

"'Cause you've got the real thing now?"

Higgs lets out a scream internally. It’s just a joke; it has to be. But still, his ears go hot with embarrassment. _Stay cool, Monaghan._

"Somethin' like that," he says flatly, finally looking up from the box.

Sam is wearing the same grey porter suit he'd been wearing the day they met at Central Knot. He looks almost as green as he did back then, but there's an unmistakable change in how he carries himself now. That disaffected scowl he had worn so often has been replaced by an expression of contentment and liveliness. He's aged well, too; defined wrinkles at the corners of his eyes crease when he smiles, and strands of silver streak throughout his perfectly tousled hair, which now hangs down to his shoulders.

"You sure you have everything you want?" Sam calls out to Higgs through his stupor.

"Yes," he says, snapping out of his thoughts. "Yeah, everything worth carrying all the way down there is in here."

Sam hands him something an awful shade of orange. Higgs holds it out and recognizes it immediately.

"CD? You've gotta be kidding me," his face twists up, and he throws it down on the table.

"You can't wear your fatigues out there. You _are_ the most wanted domestic terrorist in the country. So put it on."

He goes along with it reluctantly, making sure to look up at Sam and grimace in repulsion every few seconds. Just like when he borrowed Sam’s clothes before, it fit him crudely. The sleeves cinch up at his mid-forearm, but fortunately, the black gloves go up far enough to cover them.

"Happy?" Higgs huffs as he finishes fastening the straps on his legs.

Sam mutters something under his breath and leaves the room again. He fetches a folded-up piece of paper from the desk and brings it over.

"Here, this is the route we're taking," he unfolds the paper and spreads it out on the wall. "We can't take the roads, so we'll follow the river."

"Can't take the roads? Why's that?"

"Because you're a terrorist and I'm a criminal," Sam answers frankly. "We can't take the beaten path, just in case."

"Guess you're right," Higgs mumbles lowly in response.

He's been picturing riding on the back of Sam's trike with his arms wrapped around him for weeks now, like some fawning teenage girl. Going it on foot wearing a corpse disposal suit was going to be a far cry from that.

Sam gives everything a quick once-over before he picks Lou up from the crib and carefully slips her legs into the seat of the carrier before meticulously fastening its countless straps. She lays her head on his chest and wraps her arms around his sides. It was almost like seeing him with that fluid-filled tank strapped to his chest again, but Lou is now bigger than the pod itself.

Sam puts his cap on and gives Higgs an affirming nod. 

"Let's get this show on the road."

Higgs feels nothing as he walks up those steep metal stairs for the last time. There's no sense of loss or tug back as the door shutters behind them. The only thing on his mind is how things would change at the new shelter. But for now, the vast terrain stretches between him and that moment.

* * *

The grubby rock gradually turns into grassy fields beneath their feet as they walk along the river. The young grass blazes a vibrant green that almost hurt to look at directly. Their surroundings, which used to be teeming with MULEs, are now picturesque and peaceful. Small hills covered in flowers stretch out on either side of the river, and as far as Higgs can see, there is only the movement of vegetation blowing in the wind.

Lou breaks through the soft sound of rustling grass with a loud whine.

"You hungry?" Sam stops walking and looks down at her.

She nods emphatically and clasps her hands.

They stop at a stretch of boulders surrounded by a throng of ferns and small flowering bushes. Sam sits down and takes Lou out of the carrier, seating her on his leg. He retrieves a small jar of applesauce and a plastic spoon from his suit pocket and brings the spoon up to Lou’s lips. Lou gulps the spoonfuls down greedily, grabbing at Sam’s hand and forcing the bowl of the spoon into her mouth before he can reach it himself. Higgs predictably doesn’t feel like eating, so he settles for taking swigs of water from his canteen as he steals over to look at Sam.

As they sit on the rocks, heat bearing down upon their backs, a little orange shape lands among the leaves of buttonbrush. Lou’s eyes immediately latch onto it and follow its movements along the bush with wonder.

"Down, please!" Lou looks up at her father with pleading eyes.

Sam puts away the jar of applesauce and places her down on the grass. She bounds towards the butterfly as fast as her short legs will take her. Her hands reach out for it, and it springs up in the air, its bright orange wings fluttering against the blue sky.

"Look, look!" she exclaims, glancing back at Sam with wildly excited eyes.

Sam looks on with a serene gaze. "It's pretty. Just like you, Lou."

A breeze runs past them and blows the waves of Sam’s hair along with it. Higgs doesn't know how long he's been staring, but he just about chokes on water when Sam’s eyes meet his own. He turns away sharply and fastens the cap on his canteen. He can feel Sam's eyes on him, making him lock up awkwardly and stare down at his feet in shame.

Sam stands up and clears his throat. "Time to move."

* * *

Drops of Timefall begin to mist the trio. They stop to pull their hoods up before pressing on. The gritty feeling of his boots sinking through muddy grass made Higgs miss being able to control the weather with a flick of his wrist. Sam told him some time ago that, occasionally, it was just harmless precipitation falling from the sky. But with the only way to tell the difference between the two being holding out bare skin to see if it wrinkled up, it was as if nothing changed. Every storm is to be treated like Timefall.

Suddenly, Sam's grabbing him by the sleeve and pulling him back.

"BT," he whispers, putting a finger to his lips.

Higgs can't see anything, let alone feel anything. 

“You sure? I don't think—" Sam's palm covers his mouth before he can finish.

His eyes go wide as he watches Lou's pupils follow the offending creature that slinks behind them. She covers her mouth with a tiny hand and her eyes glisten in fright. There _is_ something there. But Higgs can’t feel anything, no raising of hair on his neck, no sense of trepidation. Nothing. He stays frozen with Sam's hand pressing against his lips, feeling utterly dumbfounded.

"It's far enough away, go!" Sam pulls Higgs by the sleeve again, shoving him forwards.

Higgs moves quickly along the riverbank with Sam following closely behind him. They walk for quite some time before Lou coos happily, seemingly signaling that they're in the clear.

Sam yanks him by the arm and turns him around. 

"What the hell? Were you trying to get us killed?"

"I can't see them anymore. I can't even sense them," Higgs says, his face a blank. "I really thought there was nothing."

Sam examines him with an air of disbelief. "How is that possible?"

"I—I don't know," he stammers.

He has an inkling. His DOOMs had always been intrinsically linked to death. Yet, even when his power was at its weakest, he could still feel the presence of BTs at the very least. Now, after over two years, this power had seemingly been supped out of him. The implications this holds shakes Higgs with an insufferable unease. Who _is_ he without DOOMs? From the moment his uncle's body went necro, up until he met with Sam on that Beach, his condition was the only thing anyone had ever praised him for. Fellow porters, his clients, Amelie, hell, even Fragile once upon a time. 

_Fragile_. Just thinking of her in passing manages to fill Higgs with guilt. After all, Fragile had been his first, and perhaps only friend. 

As they worked together, an unshakable camaraderie formed between them. They shared in their suffering of DOOMs, naturally making them a great pair, as well as successful business partners. He felt himself able to relax in her company; he could pull down a few of the walls that protected him. Fragile was the first open homosexual he'd ever met, and she had helped him accept that truth about himself in turn. Even when they were apart Fragile would call him over codec while he hauled kilograms of cargo and detail her trysts with her girlfriends. In kind, he would share his terrible experiences with perfect strangers he met on his travels, and they would both laugh at his horrible taste in men.

He can still recall the memory of her teaching him how to use the Beach to jump with a certain fondness. She had looked so proud when he finally grasped how to do it without her help.

Everything changed when he met Amelie. He started ignoring her calls and requests to work together, spending every spare moment he had with Amelie. Fragile felt this rejection immediately and sent him a long-winded email telling him to contact her once he matured enough to tell her what had caused the rift between them. A sense of guilt and nostalgia crept up on him gradually, but Amelie, the all-knowing creature that she was, came to him and snuffed it out.

"You don't need her anymore," Amelie had said. _"I_ complete you."

Months later, Fragile came to his shelter with tears streaming down her face. Despite the tense standings of their relationship, she still felt as if he was the only one who could understand her. Her face went stark white as she told him how the young female porter she'd been seeing had encountered a pack of BTs, and thanks to a defect with her Bridge Baby, a void-out swallowed her whole and left nothing but that little orange pod. Higgs looked at her from the door unmoving; he did not say a word. She begged him to say something as tears fell down her cheeks, but he refused. He turned his back on her and shut her out of his life forever. Perhaps the worst mistake he would ever make in his life.

"Higgs?" Sam's voice calls from somewhere far away.

The taller man snaps his eyes up from the ground and sees Sam waiting for him halfway up the riverbank. He runs hurriedly to catch up to him and wipes a bead of perspiration from his forehead.

"Sorry," Higgs heaves, trying to catch his breath. His knees are on the verge of buckling.

"You've been dragging your feet for a while. You alright?"

"Peachy. Just a little tired," his words are coated in such artificial joviality it makes himself sick.

Sam looks at him with half-lidded eyes.

"No, there’s definitely something up."

Higgs gives him a sigh of resignation. "Regrets and all that. One of the many downsides to human consciousness."

"What do you regret?"

"Oh, what don’t I?" he scoffs. "Most of all, hurting someone I cared about."

Sam stops walking, and his face twists up into something that resembles concern. “Fragile?”

“Right on the money, Sammy,” Higgs gives him a mournful smile and looks down at his boots. “She and I… we were stuck like glue ‘til that _bitch_ —sorry—came ‘round.”

“She mentioned something about that.”

Higgs stops in front of him. He wonders just _what_ Fragile has shared with Sam. The fact that he had once enjoyed sleeping around with anyone who would look at him? The time she’d found him all strung out on Oxy crying out for his dead mother? Sam knowing all about his terrorist exploits was one thing, but those embarrassing tidbits were another.

He grits his teeth and smiles. “Did she? Well, none of that matters now. I royally fucked everything up.”

“She’s not _that_ fragile. I’m sure if you—”

“If I what?" Higgs cuts him off before he can finish. "Tell her, ‘oh, sorry I disfigured you and framed you as a terrorist. I was in a bad headspace’? No, no, that won’t do. The only thing she wants from me is for me to suffer.”

He speaks with such conviction Sam can’t put a word in edgewise. Fragile had, after all, decided that killing him would be a fate too merciful. Deep down she knew that all Higgs had ever wanted was to be free of the curse of his existence. So she left him to rot on that miserable Beach with nothing but his gnawing thoughts to keep him company.

"There’s a lot she doesn’t know about," Sam says, finally, after an uncomfortably long silence. "She doesn't know what Amelie did to your head, Higgs."

How he despised hearing that name out loud.

"Hmph, _Amelie_. I worshipped her as a kind of god, you believe that?" he gives Sam a pained laugh. He feels stupid just recounting it. "Thought I was her little messenger, too. Funny now, ain’t it?"

"And I thought she was my sister."

"Well…all’s well that ends well, huh? We got ourselves the glorious America of yore back! That’s what really matters. Not me, you, or anyone else caught in the crossfire," Higgs gives the other man one of his trademark exaggerated theatrical bows, and Sam walks past him like he's not even there.

"It’s not like I ever gave a shit about America either," Sam mutters. "All I care about is people."

Higgs felt the same way at one point. _Community’s what it’s all about._ He once wrote that in his journal long ago.

"Maybe you're not wrong about that."

Sam stops in his tracks and looks at him inquisitively. 

"Remember when you said that the future’s got no place for us? You still believe that?"

 _I don't_ _know_ , Higgs thinks to himself. For the first time in his sordid life, the ex-terrorist was starting to feel that there might be a little more to humanity than he thought. 

It felt as if there was a vast stretch of barren land within him for his whole life. It was dark and desiccated, just like the surroundings of his old shelter. He tried to fill it with just about anything he could think of—work, religion, alcohol, drugs, sex, death, and self-destruction. Nothing would take root, no matter how hard he tried to force it.

Now, a single flower sprouts within the dry terrain of his heart. It grows a little more with every passing day. Sam, unknowingly, is the one dutifully watering this sad little plant sitting among cracked earth. Every word, every smile, everything he does nourishes it. For the first time in Higgs’ life, he _wants_ to see what lies ahead of him. What he wants more than anything is to see that flower through to its germination. Yet, it also fills him with a looming sense of dread. He knows that as soon as that blossom begins to unfurl, the feelings inside him would become impossible. It’s like a ticking time bomb set inside of himself.

As they walk in silence, stretches of grey rock begin to overtake the vegetation. Higgs stops thinking consciously and keeps his eyes fixed on the waves of water humming through the river as if searching for an answer among them.

"No, I don’t believe that anymore," he says at last.

"Had to think about it, huh?"

"Just a bit," he answers curtly.

"Well, I'm glad. Means we're on the same page now," Sam smirks and pats him on the back. "What made you change your mind?"

‘You’ is what flickers on the tip of his tongue, but if Higgs is going to be that direct about it, he might as well say that he’s in love with Sam. Might as well go ahead and tell him how many times he's laid awake and stared at him as he slept while he's at it.

"Seeing what you've built up close like this," Higgs says slowly, still trying to formulate the rest of his lie. "It's…touching."

He almost gags on the last word as it falls out of his mouth.

By the incredulous look on Sam's face, he can tell that he doesn't buy a word of it. 

"Cut the shit. What is it, really?" 

Sam was pushing Higgs into a corner he did not want to be in, but he clearly wasn’t going to let up until he spat out the truth. It’s as if their roles have been reversed, and Higgs was now on the receiving end of endless pestering about the meaning of existence. He slams his boot down hard into the pebbles along the riverbank and folds.

"Even after everything I've done and the lives I've ruined," the words flow out of him all at once like vomit. "You're giving me a chance, and I want to see it through. I don't know _why_ or what's gonna happen, but it's probably better than the nothingness on the other side of the Beach."

Sam is taken aback by his watered-down version of honesty. He stops and stares fixedly at him, something that provokes Higgs’ anxiety even further. But his eyes don't carry any suspicion; instead, something in the cold blue of his irises feels amiable.

"I want you to see it through, too," he says, the corners of his mouth curling up slightly. "So does Lou."

The statement sinks Higgs deep into an abyss of bewilderment. There's nothing left for him to say, so he dares not speak. This newfound silence between them carries no tension. They've both said what they wanted to say instead of hiding behind masks and hot air. Now they’re able to walk side by side comfortably along the lapping river, with Lou gently laughing and kicking her feet out between them.

* * *

It starts raining again when the looming shadow of the weather station’s radars come into view over the fragmented rock. This storm is far worse than the last. Endless rain pours down in a heavy torrent, and the sky is so dark it’s difficult to see what lies before them. There’s no sign of BTs, but the slippery surface of wet rock is starting to become an issue. The pair is forced to move at a snail's pace to avoid slipping and toppling over the boulders along the riverbank. Lou is also starting to get restless, her fussing getting louder and louder as the crack of thunder comes closer. A bolt of lightning flashes somewhere off in the distance and the following violent thunder turns her whimpers into distressed screams.

"Ain't gonna let up. We need to find somewhere to wait it out," Higgs shouts to the other through the rainfall. 

"There's a Timefall shelter right there," Sam points out west at the bright white structure among the darkness. "Best we can do right now."

They take a detour from their route and make their way over to the shelter cautiously. The craggy surface coupled with the rain is relentless. Every few steps sees Higgs nearly toppling over. Upon reaching the shelter, he jokingly signs a ‘Hail Mary’ for making it safely. Sam takes Lou out of the carrier and cradles her in his arms, gently swaying her back and forth and shushing her. Higgs sits down on the other side of the stark white cylindrical base of the shelter and tucks his knees under his chin.

"Sam?" he calls from beyond the patter of rain above them.

"Yeah?"

"Why do you treat me like this?"

"What do you mean? Like what?"

Higgs gestures wildly with his hands. "Y'know, _nice_."

Sam looks down at him sternly. "Because you need it. So shut up and sleep."

Higgs leans back against the containers and closes his eyes. Sleep will not come. The conversation with Sam weighs far too heavily on his mind. But just like a dog following his master’s orders, he feigns slumber all while his mind travels at a speed too fast to follow.

The sound of whistling drags him out of his head immediately. Lou is still whimpering incessantly, and Sam is trying anything he can think of to calm her down.

"See the sunset, the day is ending," Sam starts to croon softly.

Higgs’ ears perk up. Sam’s singing voice was rough around the edges but still endearing nonetheless. The man's voice lilts pleasantly, unlike the usual low gravelly timbre of his speech.

"Let yawn out, there's no pretending…"

Lou stops whimpering and yawns deeply.

"I will hold you and protect you, so let love warm you…'til the morning…"

Something warm washes over Higgs, smothering him like a comforting embrace. He lets himself sink deeper and deeper into that feeling, until it sinks right down to his restless mind. His eyelids become heavier and heavier, and he drifts off into sleep.

* * *

Sam wakes him up when the rain ceases, and they continue on. The last stretch is the easiest to trek thus far, the path ahead of them a flat trail of gravel cut out by eroded slate. Still, it’s proving to be the most arduous. Higgs' shoulders ache, likely rubbed raw by the tight straps of fabric holding his backpack in place. Sam can’t be in a much better state, seeing as he’s carrying more cargo than Higgs, with the addition of a toddler across his chest. 

Yet, Sam was carrying himself far more gracefully.

He walks with his back straight, his hands grasping the straps of his backpack tightly for balance. On the other hand, Higgs slouches forward against the weight on his back and stops every few minutes to roll his singeing ankles. Sam was just naturally better than him at everything. He'd submitted to that fact long ago, even before his defeat on the Beach. It filled Higgs with a violent rage at one point, but the way he views Sam now is with nothing but admiration.

He'd fantasized many times about what it would be like if he had never met the 'sweet little angel of death' and came across the 'man who delivers' instead. Higgs imagines they would have worked well together, would maybe have reached the level of trust he used to hold with Fragile. Or even surpass it, becoming something more.

 _Maybe that chance hasn't run out yet_ , he thinks. But again, Higgs’ optimism is drowned out by that nagging voice. _Yeah, right, he'll never trust you, not really. He'll tolerate you because he pities you._ _Don't get your hopes up._

"You stuck in your head again?" Sam asks ahead of him. "We're here."

Sam stands before a descending gravel trail cut out by piles of grey rock. Higgs trudges over slowly, gritting his teeth at the gnawing pain in his calves. They make their way down the winding trail of pitted rock. Higgs cranes his neck to look below them. The arch of the shelter’s entrance is tucked away beneath a wall of rock. Sam certainly picked a good place for two fugitives to hide; it's almost entirely concealed from above. They arrive at the opening and walk in with the soles of their boots clacking loudly atop the metal flooring.

Sam enters a code on the terminal interface, and the door unlocks with a loud click.

"Well, Lou…Higgs," he says as he swings the door open. "Welcome to our new home."


	4. This is Us Colliding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'know what's a good musical companion to this one? 'I might be wrong' by Radiohead...for reasons. I was listening to that a lot.

The new shelter is proving to be a much-needed upgrade from the old one. There are four separate rooms—the kitchen and dining room, a living room, Lou's bedroom, and their bedroom, along with a spacious bathroom off the hallway to the right of the entrance. Lou has taken up the largest room in the shelter, and Sam and Higgs reside in the former sewing room. Before they built all the furniture, a large cardboard box was waiting for them there. It was full of colourful, hand-made children's clothes which replaced Lou's old drab wardrobe entirely.

Higgs is inserting himself into Lou's activities at a gradual pace. He starts off reading in the same corner of the room as the little girl and then works his way up to silently sitting next to her. Sometimes, while she scribbles with her crayons, he joins in and makes a few drawings of his own—mostly hieroglyphs. Lou particularly likes it when he draws the ones that resemble animals and bugs, and she gets up on her knees at the table to watch him work. Her stance on Higgs seems to still be ambivalent, but she's no longer frightened of him.

Sam orders a TV for the living room. After years of delivering broadcasts via computers and tablets, the UCA has decided to launch an effort to revitalize television: they call it the "UCA Channel." The programs consist of only children's shows airing during the day and weather reports, and news at night. Looking up at this razor-thin screen was just one of the many activities Higgs shares silently with Lou. Right now, she's watching with a puzzled expression as a woman in a blindingly white fluorescent room talks to an orange puppet that somewhat resembles a cat. They're dishing out some grand moral fable to inspire the hearts of children across the United Cities, but as he can see in Lou's eyes from where he sits on the couch, it's failing horribly.

Entertainment doesn't exist anymore, not really. There are no longer any trashy soap operas being churned out to help adults pretend they don't have real-world problems in the evening. Getting a hold of a more varied selection of old stuff was hard before the Chiral Network. It was all congruent on 'knowing a guy' who could send over rare copies of films that somehow managed to survive the explosions. Luckily, Higgs was one of the people who had 'known a guy.' Well, not personally, that is.

When he was a fledgling porter, he'd come to deliver for some sort of academic who was regularly ordering cases of films. Higgs had a long-standing curiosity about them; he'd open up the containers and look carefully at the cases. One day he'd started pocketing the ones that interested him. It was just a few here and there at first, but soon, Higgs was making off with upwards of half the order and giving the man increasingly elaborate excuses when he came up scant.

_I'm sorry, sir, I guess your order got mixed up._

_My apologies, I got hit hard by Timefall this time. Only one of the containers made it._

_MULEs flagged me down and took almost everything, but I managed to hang onto this one for you._

So began his vested interest in drama and theatrics. Sometimes Higgs got lucky and came across something extraordinary. Other times, he ended up with half-baked travesties he couldn't even finish. But after months of stealing this old man's cargo, Higgs ended up with a sizable and well-curated collection that he burned to the hard drive of his laptop.

When Sam steps back into the room, Higgs doesn't waste a second. "Can we watch a real movie?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean something that isn't totally sh—" he looks down at Lou and stops short. "Awful. Whatever this is, it's terrible."

Sam crosses his arms and stares down at him. "I'm listening."

"My laptop, I've got tons of films burned on there. Gotta be a few for kids."

Higgs fetches that practically ancient piece of technology from the bedroom and puts it out on the coffee table. He scrolls down through his large folder of videos, scanning for something that looks like a two and a half-year-old may enjoy. His finger lands on something called _The Adventures of Winnie the Pooh_ , released in 1977. He isn't sure how such a film ended up in his collection, but he's glad it's there. He wasn't actually all that sure if he had any movies for kids when he'd suggested this. The film comes up with a quick double-tap on the trackpad.

"We can't watch this on the TV?" Sam asks, looking over his shoulder at the screen.

"This thing here," Higgs taps on the battered plastic. "Is so old that it's not cross-compatible with anything but other pre-Stranding technology."

The three of them pack into the loveseat and stare down at the small screen. Higgs tenses up as Sam's leg scuffles towards him to make room for Lou. Sam is close, so close Higgs can't control the quickened pace of his heart. The movie flickers on before him, but all he can think about is the soft brush of Sam's leg against his own. 

Halfway through the movie, Sam ducks out to get dinner for the three of them. Now that they were closer to Timefall Farm, they received shipments of fresh vegetables--ingredients Sam doesn't quite know how to work with. So, he chops them up and puts them in a slow cooker with soup stock and whatever meat they have on hand. By now, Higgs is starting to prefer Sam's home-cooked meals over pizza. He isn't sure if it's because of his palate expanding or simply because _Sam_ is the one who makes it.

They sit in front of the laptop and eat silently. Lou's eyes don't leave the screen for a second. She shovels food into her mouth in a daze, watching these brightly coloured animals go on adventures in a vibrant forest. 

The movie ends, and Lou stands up and shakes the screen with her tiny hands expecting it to continue.

"That's all for now, Lou," Sam says, gently removing her hands from the laptop.

"Oh bother," she says, tapping her head with her fist just like Pooh.

She stands up and runs out into the hallway. Sam follows her soon after, and Higgs trails after them. Lou stands at the bottom of the staircase leading outside, rocking the short plastic gate fastened in front of it.

"What're you doing, Lou?" Sam asks cautiously. 

"Wanna go outside."

"We can't do that. It's not safe."

She stomps her feet at him and continues trying to dismantle the gate. "Outside!"

Sam picks her up and puts the gate back in place with his other hand. "No, Lou."

"I don't like you!" she screeches, trying to push him away. "Down!"

Sam's eyes open wide. He looks over at Higgs in shock before turning back to Lou.

"Well, I love you," he says calmly. "So, we can do something else."

"No!" she screams and starts hitting him with small fists.

"Alright, it's time for bed," Sam chides firmly.

Higgs watches her arms flail about over Sam's shoulder as he takes her to her bedroom. He stands in the hallway, frozen for a long moment. Something had come up and struck him as he watched that altercation. His hands start to tremble terribly, becoming cold and clammy with perspiration. He's on the verge of panic; he can feel it in every inch of his body. He makes his way to the bedroom, seeking solace in that tiny green cot. His vision goes black somewhere between the hallway and the door, and he ends up with his back against the wall, clinging onto the door frame for support.

Sam returns and hangs in the doorway, sighing deeply.

"She cried so hard she fell asleep," he stops and rubs his temples. "We've never fought like that before, I don't know—"

"What the hell was that?" Higgs spits from beside him.

Sam looks up at him in complete shock. 

"What?"

"You can't just keep her cooped up inside forever," Higgs snaps. "It's not fair."

"Fair? I did something highly fucking prohibited when I took her out of that pod, Higgs. If anyone finds out about it and something happens to her…" Sam grabs him by the wrist and speaks mere inches from his face. "You wouldn't understand—"

"Oh, I do understand. I understand how _she_ feels perfectly!" he interjects, looking down harshly into Sam's eyes. "And Sam, you're hurting me."

Sam's face goes pale. He slackens his grip and slumps back awkwardly.

"Fuck… I'm sorry."

Higgs backs away from him and sits down on his cot, tucking his knees under his chin. He presses the heels of his palms into his eyes and tries fruitlessly to stop himself from crying. It fails, as expected, and the tears well up in his palms.

Sam leans forward in front of him and quietly asks, "You alright?"

Higgs does not answer. He stays frozen, holding his head in his wet hands.

"Talk to me," Sam pleads, dropping his hands down against his thighs with a smack. "Please."

Nothing. It's like he's not even there. Sam straightens out and paces the room a few times. He stops ahead of Higgs' cot and crosses his arms.

"Just…say something already. You're pissed at me? Alright, tell me why," he huffs. "Stop playing around."

"I'm not playing around. Head's spinning. Can't think," Higgs mutters from between his knees.

Sam's lips smooth out into a flat, straight line. He unfolds his arms and sits down beside Higgs cautiously.

"Okay. You wanna talk?" he says, calm returning to his voice.

Higgs brings his legs down slowly and nods. "Well…I don't know. I've never _talked_ about it, not really."

"It might help."

"What just happened with Lou brought a lot of things back. I remember being her age and thinking the whole world was four concrete walls. And that there was nowhere to run to when he—" his chin quivers and he presses hard on his eyes, trying desperately to stop the tears.

"You don't have to talk about it if it's too hard."

"Don't even have to talk," he says through clenched teeth.

Higgs slips that black turtleneck over his head and puts all of the years of torment on display. His torso is covered in pinkish marks, long stretches of raised scars along his stomach, cigarette burns along his clavicle, and thick patterned scars running from his shoulders to his lower back. A particularly nasty scar that looks to have been poorly stitched up stretches across his throat. Sam slowly reaches out to touch him, looking in his eyes for the go-ahead. His fingertips trace along the scars on his back, up to the dotted burns on his collar bone. He withdraws his hand and winces.

"I hated him for years. Even after I killed him. But when I met Amelie, I started thinking he was right about everything…I dunno, she reminded me so much of him. Always 'I'm doing this because I love you,' all while they drive the knife into me, telling me it hurts 'cause I'm weak and—" he stops as he feels something wet drip down onto his chest. "Would you look at that? I'm crying like a goddamn child again." 

"When you killed him, he had it coming," Sam's voice is strained with emotion. It's unlike anything he's ever heard in Sam's usual monotone inflection.

Sam leans over and hugs him. Higgs freezes, his hands dangling limp and useless at Sam's sides. The porter's strong arms clasp tightly around his shoulders, so tight that there's no way to hide the flutter of his heart. Sam's body is warm and crushing against his own exposed frame. Higgs shuts his eyes firmly and splays his palms out against Sam's shoulder blades, pulling him closer. Being embraced by Sam in bed like this, their bodies pressed so closely together, Higgs' breast is overtaken by a balmy feeling. It's different from the time Higgs had tricked Sam into hugging him so long ago. Now Sam's arms wrap around him because he _wants_ to. This embrace, strangely, feels like the most natural thing in the world--as if they are two parts of broken ceramic fitting together to create a whole.

Higgs inhales deeply against him, trying to savour every sensation of the embrace before it ends. The feeling of Sam's soft skin against his exposed back. The sandpaper-rasp of facial hair on his shoulder. The pleasant floral scent exuding from his clean hair. The steady rhythm of Sam's warm breath grazing his clavicle. Higgs takes it all in hungrily before he turns his head to reply.

"Yeah. He did," he whispers softly against the crook of Sam's neck. "And I liked it. I liked killing him."

Sam pulls away slowly, his soft palms running down Higgs' arms before he withdraws completely. Higgs leans back and looks at the other man in a daze. Even after the initial sensation of Sam's arms wrapped around him fades, the feeling of warmth where he'd pressed against the other continues to tingle on his skin.

Sam drops his head and fidgets with the drawstring of his sweatpants.

"I don't know how much you know about me," he says quietly.

Higgs cocks his head a fraction. Even through relentless research and endless pestering of Amelie, he had never been able to find out more about Sam's past other than the fact that he was supposedly Amelie's adoptive brother. However, he knew something was off about all of it in the way Amelie spoke of him. Always with a remorseful expression on her face, her tone wavering with guilt as she outlined her plans for him.

"I was supposed to be a Bridge Baby."

Higgs' eyes fly open.

Sam recounts everything in lurid detail. How he'd been shot and killed along with his father as an infant and subsequently repatriated by Amelie. The development of his aphenphosmphobia stemming from his touch-starved childhood under Bridget's care. Despite his current view of her, something warm flickers in his eyes when he details his visits to Amelie's Beach as a child. Higgs' heart skips a beat when Sam starts talking about his encounters with a mysterious soldier on a war-torn Beach. Higgs remembers seeing Sam sucked into that Supercell so long ago and how Amelie had stayed tight-lipped whenever he asked about it. It made sense now. All Higgs can do is stare at him in shock from the other side of the cot as Sam continues. Sam tells him how he had met with his father as he lay dying on that hospital floor shortly after returning from Amelie's Beach. Somehow frozen in time, in that room as an adult and an infant at the same time.

He reaches under the collar of his shirt with two fingers and pulls up something shiny and metallic. "He gave me this."

Higgs reaches out his hand and takes the dog-tag in his fingers. _Unger, Clifford._ It slips out of his hand and swings back towards Sam's chest.

"He would have agreed with you about Lou," Sam smiles in a bittersweet way and puts the chain back under his shirt. "She needs to be free, and I need to take her wherever she wants to go."

"She'll be alright, long as you're there to protect her," Higgs pauses for a moment before adding, "I will be, too."

"You've taken a shine to her, huh?"

"Guess I have," he chuckles softly. "If anyone tried anything, I'd put them in the ground."

"I don't know if that's necessary."

"You're right. I can just say I've risen from the dead and taken you hostage, and I'll kill the 'Great Deliverer' if they make a move."

Sam laughs and awkwardly scratches at the back of his neck. "Kinda feel like drinking after all that talking. They left some rosé in the cupboard as a welcoming gift."

Sam ducks out of the room to fetch the wine. Higgs looks up at the ceiling blankly; a feeling of relaxation washes over the edges of his consciousness. He silently retraces their conversation in his mind, not forming any narrative; he just repeats the words to himself in a trance. He snaps out of it when he hears the floorboards squeak outside of the doorway. Sam sits back down beside him and pours a generous amount of the sparkling wine into two glasses.

"Well, here's to rotten childhoods," Higgs says as he clinks his glass against Sam's. "But Louise has herself one hell of a father. She's gonna be just fine."

He takes a swig of the wine. It's sweet, almost intolerably so. Higgs favors hard alcohol, and he likes to drink it straight. He wants the burn in his throat and the sharp sting of liquor in his nostrils. Sam seems to be enjoying it, though, so he sucks it up and keeps drinking. There's a distinct air of sensuality that hangs about Sam's face as he drinks. A soft pink colours the tips of his ears, and he tucks his long hair behind them as if showing them off. The wrinkles around his eyes pleat delightfully every time he takes a sip and feels the carbonation roll along his tongue. 

"You put any thought into why you're back here?" Sam asks after taking a generous sip of wine.

Higgs shifts in his seat and looks down at his lap. "I prefer books and sleeping to the contemplation of my existence these days."

"Fair enough."

"Jokes aside, I have some idea," he murmurs. "But you're gonna think I'm crazy…Amelie came to me in a dream."

Sam looks at him with a furrowed brow. "That can't be possible. Her Beach is gone."

"I don't know. It could've just been a dream, but it _felt_ real. So real I threw up on you, remember?"

"I do remember feeling your puke between my toes, yes," Sam mutters, visibly cringing at the memory. "What did she say?"

"Whole lot of bullshit," Higgs sighs and shrugs weakly. "But some of that bullshit did make a lick of sense. More sense than me just _appearing_ out of nowhere."

"What bullshit, exactly?"

"She said _she_ sent me back. Guess she wanted to clear her conscience before she fucked off, or something. I don't know."

Sam rubs his forefinger over the greying hair on his chin. 

"Now that you mention it—she did the same to Fragile not long after you were stranded there. It's well within her power, but…" he trails off and squints his eyes in confusion.

"But it shouldn't be possible? I'm with you on that," Higgs concurs with a curt nod. "I thought I was going to spend the rest of eternity alone on that fucking Beach. Made my peace with it and everything."

"I'm glad you're not, though," Sam says, a slight smile forming on his lips. "I like having you around, talking to you like this. Me and you… we're connected now."

 _Connected_ . Bridges had done a hell of a job dragging that word through the mud until it didn't mean anything. It meant a line between two dots now—a Strand between two KNOTs. But, something in the way Sam's tone shifts as he says the word alludes to something more. They _are_ connected. They probably always have been. A frayed strand of thread stretched out between them, and the ends were always fated to meet like this. Now their shared secrets, their pain, and their newfound joys were starting to weave together in an intricate tapestry.

A funny feeling rises up in Higgs' throat. It's like he's on the verge of tears, but his eyes stay painfully dry. Maybe it's because he's out of tears to cry, or maybe he's trying to protect his dignity. He isn't sure, but Sam looks intently at him for a response. He considers being honest for just a moment, but it feels dangerous. Like he's going to spit out the words 'I love you' if he doesn't crack some sort of joke instead.

Higgs lowers his eyes and speaks against the rim of his glass, "You keep talking like that, and I'm gonna start thinking you're soft on me."

"I'm being serious here. Shit…" Sam groans, smoothing a hand over his beard and exhaling deeply. "After I read your journals, I wanted to see you again, hear your side of things. And the more I thought about it, the more I thought you might still be alive. You shot three bullets when all it should've taken was one."

"Well, that's 'cause one didn't work. Next two didn't either, just gave me one hell of a headache," Higgs chuckles with a faint twinge of pain. "Emptied out the mag when you were gone, too. And that pretty little knife didn't do much but give me something to draw in the sand with."

Sam looks down and taps his feet softly against the hardwood flooring. 

"I'm happy that it didn't work. Otherwise, we wouldn't be sitting here drinking like this right now."

Higgs' shoulders tense up tightly. It's not that he doesn't appreciate Sam's kind-hearted comments. He's just afraid to read too deeply into them and create a sense of false hope. 

"Well, you know a lot about me, Sam," Higgs coughs gently to clear his throat. "But I barely know anything about you."

"What do you mean? I told you everything there is to know about me."

"No, no," he clicks his tongue. "I mean, what kind of things do you like?"

Sam puts his chin between his thumb and forefinger. "I dunno. Lou?"

Higgs groans and rolls his eyes.

"I _know_ that. I mean like music, books, films, those sorts of things. _Culture._ "

"I don't think I could name a single song," Sam says plainly. "Never been the reading type, either. And I think I could count all the movies I've seen on one hand. Including the one we watched today."

Higgs hangs his head in defeat before pressing on, "Well, this one's easy. How old are you?"

"I turned fifty-two about a month ago."

"A month ago? And you didn't say anything?"

"It's no big deal. It's no different from any other day, really," Sam shrugs casually. "Didn't stop the emails from coming, though."

"I don't even know my birthday," Higgs says quietly. "You're lucky to."

"How old are _you_ then?"

"Forty, maybe," he says, darting his pupils around as if looking for the answer. "I don't really know how old I was when I left home. Told folks I was eighteen so I could get work. Could've been as young as fourteen, thirteen, for all I know."

Sam finishes the rest of his wine in one go. 

"Interesting."

"So, when your birthday comes round again," Higgs clasps his hands around his knee in a beseeching manner. "I'll make dinner for once."

Sam wrinkles his face up in revulsion.

"I dunno if I trust the man who lived off junk food and pizza for years to make something edible."

"Oh, c'mon. I can learn, right?" Higgs drums on his thighs and looks up at him with starry eyes. "Hey, you could teach me."

"Hm, 'spose so."

"It's a date then," he says smoothly, taking a perfunctory sip of wine to hide the following embarrassment.

He's definitely laying it on thick, but not because of the wine. The warm press of Sam's shoulder against his own is doing far more to diminish his inhibitions than the alcohol swirling around in his bloodstream. But Sam is either unable to pick up what he's putting down, or he's deliberately ignoring his subtle advances. Knowing Sam, Higgs places his bets on the former.

"OK, sure," Sam clears his throat after a moment and continues. "Got a question for _you_ now. Higgs isn't your real name, is it?"

"No, but what do names matter in our epic? When most people are simply going by titles nowadays? It's an arbitrary concept, just like time," he shrugs nonchalantly. "The Monaghan bit's real, though."

The non-answer seems to have irked Sam so deeply he doesn't bother asking again. A silence only disturbed by the electric whirring of the air conditioning rises up in the air. 

"I kinda miss the eyeliner," Sam says while he pours himself another glass of wine.

A chill rolls down Higgs' spine, followed by a flush in his cheeks. Sam had never commented on his appearance before. Nor had he said anything about his, for that matter. _So he's thought about what I look like. He has opinions on what I look like,_ Higgs thinks, the thought causing him to shudder deep down inside.

"It's called _kohl,"_ he says pointedly after letting the unease pass.

"Yeah, whatever it's called," Sam replies, rolling his eyes in annoyance. "May be the only thing I miss about how you were back then. It looked cool."

Higgs taps his fingernails on the cold glass of the empty bottle. "And what about my stellar personality?"

Sam looks at him with half-lidded eyes and lets out a vague grunt. "No comment."

"Ice cold, Sam."

"You were a real dick, you know that?" he says, his brows crossing for a moment. "Couldn't set foot outside without wondering if you were gonna jump me."

"Well, maybe I just wanted to see you," Higgs says without thinking.

"Better ways to do it than that."

"Yeah, that's what the pizza orders were for."

Sam grumbles something incoherent and looks over at the clock on the dresser. "Shit, didn't realise how late it was."

Higgs' body feels the dissipation of warmth immediately when the other man stands up. Sam picks up their glasses and the bottle and leaves the room quietly. Higgs lays back in his drunken stupor and massages his temples. He's said a lot tonight, surely crossing a few proverbial lines in the sand. But the lingering influence of alcohol refuses to let him ruminate on it. He clasps his hands at his stomach and waits for Sam to return.

When Higgs hears the pad of bare feet on wood, he sits up and watches Sam stretch and get into bed.

"Tomorrow, we'll take Lou out for a picnic out by the waterfall, how 'bout it?" he says from across the room.

"Alright. I'm sure she'd like that."

 _It's a date_ , he says internally.

* * *

Higgs stands in the bathroom, slightly hungover but somewhat refreshed by the hot shower he'd taken. He trims his beard, cleans up the edges, smoothes a small amount of product into his hair, and brushes his teeth. When he finishes, Higgs looks into the mirror, an activity he had always despised, feeling oddly comfortable in his own skin. The feeling is bizarre enough to raise goosebumps along his bare skin. Higgs steps forwards and places his hands on the sink to take a closer look, trying to discern where this is coming from.

He yanks his lower eyelid down and stares deep into his own eye. It's the same blue iris as before. He has the same head and jaw shape, too. The same cat-like mouth. The familiar scrawl of bits of the Higgs mechanism tattooed on his forehead. Two years and a half years have passed, and he looks exactly the same as he did back then. Nothing has changed outwardly, but miraculously, he doesn't _hate_ his face anymore.

Arriving at this conclusion, Higgs reaches down and pulls out an old stick of kohl from the sink cabinet. Carefully tracing his eyeline in the mirror, he applies a dark line with a pointed edge. He follows suit on the other eye and stands back to look at himself. _Shit, maybe it does look cool,_ he thinks, turning his head from side to side to admire his work. He finishes dressing himself and pads out of the bathroom, making his way to the kitchen where Sam prepares the food for their picnic.

Sam stops buttering bread and looks at him with those warm baby-blues. He gives him an enthusiastic thumbs-up.

"Looks good. _Cool_."

Higgs' lips spread out into a razor-thin smile.

"Flattery won't get you anywhere, Sam."

"Ha."

When Sam finishes preparing their sandwiches, he leaves the kitchen to get Lou ready. Higgs sits at the table and listens to them argue over Lou's outfit for the day. Sam's insistent on her wearing something warm, and she wants to wear her favourite cotton cat-eared onesie as usual. Higgs chuckles to himself when Sam finally gives in and lets her do what she wants.

"Ready to rock and roll?" Sam taps on the kitchen door with Lou in tow, fastened in the carrier on his back.

Higgs snorts quietly. It's such a _dad_ thing to say; it's almost painful.

"Yeah. That I am."

Higgs grabs the small cargo container containing their lunches from the counter and follows Sam down the corridor and up the metal stairs. The sound of crashing water fills his ears the moment they're out of the arch of the shelter's entrance. He listens to it intently as they make their way up the steep incline jagged rock. The weather is perfect. Not too hot, not too cool. A gentle breeze kisses his bare cheeks as they reach the top.

The view is sublime. They stop in their tracks and take it all in. Cascading white waves thunder over the edge endlessly, hitting the rocks below with a raucous rumbling. A dancing mist hangs over the limpid body of water as far as the eye can see. The blue sky peeks behind the sea cliffs with a few small, white clouds scattered out in a pleasing pattern.

"Ain't ever seen this up close before," Higgs whistles in astonishment. "It's something, alright."

"Mm. It's real pretty," Sam nods. "What do you think, Lou?"

Sam takes her small, rosy hand in his from over his shoulder. She laughs in delight and shakes his hand vigorously.

They walk further down the river where the sound of the rushing rapids isn't as strong and find a flat space amid the boulders to lay out the blanket. Sam takes Lou out of the carrier and sits her down on the blanket. He tousles her curly hair gently and stretches out beside her. Higgs sits down with his legs crossed and leans back on his elbows on the other side. Lou sits perfectly still and stares out in awe. The girl's glimmering eyes beam with wonderment and curiosity.

"Bet you're glad we came out here, huh?" Higgs turns to face Sam and curls the corner of his lips up slightly.

"Yeah, I'm really glad," Sam says, a joyfulness colouring his voice. "Thanks for convincing me to come out here."

Sam smiles at him. A wide, warm smile. His cheeks dimple and the top row of his teeth ever so slightly become visible, two sharp white canines jutting out behind his bottom lip.

And just like that, the ticking time bomb set within Higgs' heart explodes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wowowow this chapter ended up being pretty long. Hope ya enjoyed. I've kept up publishing a chapter each week thus far but it may start to become bi-weekly, just a heads-up :) Thank you for reading so far.


	5. Five String Serenade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I knew I had to write Higgs playing the guitar at some point when I noticed that amp under his desk... so here it is.  
> Also it kinda got explicit, who did that.

Ever since that day by the waterfall, when Sam had smiled so brightly it caused his heart to burst, Higgs started to feel strange. He withdraws immediately, going back to estranging himself from Sam and Lou. He can tell that Sam knows something's off, but he doesn't know what else to do. Being near Sam for too long makes him uneasy. Something deep in his chest starts to ache, vague but constant, like a pebble stuck in the back of his shoe.

He finds himself going back to reading outside again, just like he'd done when they first started living together. He sits in the arch of the door with his legs crossed and reads whatever books Sam's ordered for the week. Today's selection is a novel written by the father of one of Sam's prepper friends. It's the first in a series of three, and so far, it's a pleasant read, not too hard on the psyche. The author seems to have a particular interest in gourds, using them as a recurring motif in the story, symbolizing life, death, and even procreation.

From up above, he hears the sound of footsteps on loose rock drawing closer. It's likely a porter bringing in their food for the week. Dog-earing the page he's reading, Higgs stands up and makes his way to the door before swinging it open. Beyond the entrance, Sam is waiting eagerly at the cargo shelf. Higgs gives him a short nod and tries to walk by.

"Wait," Sam says, grabbing him by the sleeve. "Come here a sec."

The shelf comes up out of the hatch with a mechanical whir. Higgs eyes it silently; it doesn't look like anything too out of the ordinary, a couple cases of food, some toys for Lou, and toiletries all stacked up neatly. Sam picks them all up effortlessly and places them on the floor. Underneath everything is a guitar case. Sam snaps open the lock with a metallic click. The tawny, rich, brown of the solid mahogany top strikes Higgs immediately, followed by the gleaming steel strings running down from the neck. It's a beautiful instrument, no doubt.

"It's a gift. One of my buddies is a musician. I asked him if he had any guitars he didn't mind parting with."

"Thanks, Sam," he looks down at the guitar again, lifting a brow slightly. "But why? I mean…I didn't ask you for anything."

"Well, there was an amp in the old place, right? I dunno," Sam pauses and meets Higgs' eyeline. "You've been quiet. I thought you might be getting bored of reading."

Higgs did, in fact, own an electric guitar once upon a time. He'd smashed it up during one of his manic fits, though. Likely spurred on by some disagreement with Amelie. Even further back, he owned an acoustic similar to this one: a red one with tinted black edges. It was so long ago he couldn't even remember what had happened to it. He had probably destroyed that guitar too.

Higgs reaches into the case slowly and picks the instrument up by the neck. It feels heavier than the old spruce top acoustic he had before. There aren't any scratches or visible signs of wear anywhere he can see. Either the previous owner hadn't even touched it, or he's done a great job with refurbishing.

"It's in great condition for a second-hand guitar, that's for sure," he murmurs.

"You think you could play a couple songs for me?" Sam asks quietly. "Uh, for Lou, too."

Higgs mulls it over in his head for a second. Then he nods slowly before putting the guitar back in its case and firmly grasping the leather handle. He follows Sam down the stairs, all the way into the living room. Lou's sitting on the floor and occupying herself with her dolls, having some sort of hushed conversation with them. When Higgs walks by, she puts them down and goes stock-still to stare up at him. Sam comes up behind her and flops down on the loveseat, and she turns around at once to sit beside him, draping her arms across his lap.

Higgs sits in the armchair beside them, and tucks the guitar under his arm and picks up the little satchel of accessories tucked in the side of the case. He plucks at each of the chords with his thumb, checking to see if they're in tune. Most of them aren't far off, but A is way too low. He deals with the other five first, getting them in order with little difficulty. Then he tackles A, twisting the peg tighter and plucking the string repeatedly.

Sam taps his feet on the floor and clears his throat.

"So…what're you playing?"

"Sam, you sweet summer child," Higgs cracks up a little. "Ain't playing nothing yet. When a guitar goes out of use for a while, you've gotta turn these little knobs here at the end 'til it sounds right."

"Oh."

Higgs searches his mind for something to play. Something a kid would like. Something  _ Sam  _ would like. It comes to him like a lightning bolt, and he drums on the wooden bevel of the guitar with his fingernails happily. 'Somewhere Over the Rainbow' by IZ. It was an export from the now completely remote island of Hawai'i in the 1990s. He learned it a long time ago by listening along to the record and figuring out the chords by ear. A tough feat, considering the song was performed on a ukulele, not a guitar.

He clips the capo over the third fret and presses his fingers down on the fretboard to form a G. His fingertips definitely aren't as acclimatized to the feeling of steel strings as they once had been, but he pushes on. Breathing deeply, he strums out the beginning and starts to hum along in a honeyed tone.

_ "Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high…"  _ he starts quietly, suddenly feeling awfully self-conscious about his voice.

His intonation is a little rusty, but Sam and Lou don't seem to mind—or even notice. The little girl looks at Higgs, saucer-eyed as she slides off the couch. She draws closer and starts bobbing up and down to the tune, her arms waving about wildly at her sides. Higgs looks at her and smiles wide as he sings, the joy tinging his voice pleasantly. She beams back at him with her eyes scrunched in delight, continuing to move along to the sound of his voice.

He croons again, just like he did at the start, but this time with more confidence. Higgs holds the last note and drifts off to a close, placing his palm on the strings to mute the sustain. He gives a slight bow from where he sits and raises a hand for applause.

"Wow!" Lou giggles as she jumps up and down. "Wow, wow!"

Sam claps for him from the loveseat and smiles.

"Sounds great."

"Think that's all I got for songs that a kid would like," Higgs says, tapping on the guitar top with his knuckles.

"Mm, that's alright," Sam hums. "Just play whatever comes to mind."

_ Whatever comes to mind _ . Higgs repeats the words to himself internally like a mantra. He removes the capo from the fretboard and lazily strums his fingers over the soundhole. Something starts to form in the ether without him putting conscious thought into it. He starts to fingerpick the hypnotic melody of 'Song to the Siren.' He isn't exactly sure what's drawn him to this song in particular, but he lets it flow out from his fingertips. He starts singing the opening verse, his voice dropping as low and soft as the song commands.

He looks up at Sam timidly. Their eyes meet while he sings these sweet words in this dulcet tone, and he feels like he can make out a flicker beyond Sam's blue irises. Even though something deep lurks beyond the surface, the porter looks happy, his posture relaxed and warm. Higgs keeps this eye-burning contact for the entire duration of the chorus. Sam's face shifts into something serious, like he's on the cusp of grasping something, but isn't quite sure what. After a few seconds, there's a glimmer in Sam's eyes that tells Higgs that he's caught that  _ something.  _ Then Sam looks down tentatively, breaking their shared gaze.

Suddenly, playing the guitar seems very tumultuous. Higgs messes up the shape of a few chords and has to look down at the fretboard to set himself straight.  _ What the fuck was that?  _ He forces out the rest of the song painstakingly. The lyrics are so achingly  _ him  _ that he feels like he's telling Sam every dirty little secret with each strum.

_ "Oh, my heart is waiting to hold you,"  _ and the song ends, leaving Higgs feeling horribly exposed.

Higgs looks up from where his sore fingers rest on the guitar to find Lou sleeping soundly with one of her dolls tucked under her head. The dancing and excitement seemed to have tuckered her out quickly. It's late, probably far past her bedtime.

Sam puts his forefinger to his lips and quietly tiptoes towards her. He picks her up carefully, and the child's limp arms dangle over his shoulder as he carries her out of the room. Higgs makes a mental note to thank Lou at some junction for saving him from answering any questions about the song he just played, or whatever sort of  _ moment  _ he's just shared with Sam. He closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths. His shirt is sticking to his back, and an uncomfortable pool of perspiration sits in his armpits. He braved the performance anxiety mentally, but the physiological aspects clearly did not elude him. He carefully places the guitar back in the case and locks it, then stumbles off to the shower to wash away the stench of body odour and sweat.

* * *

The warm water hits his shoulders and runs down over his lanky frame. He washes his hair first, then his face and beard. He lathers the bar of soap in his hands and starts scrubbing down his shoulders. 

_ What if these were Sam's hands on my body?  _

The intruding thought makes him shudder, but he continues without a beat nonetheless, rubbing suds of soap down his chest. His breath hitches as his fingers graze a raised nipple, and he stops to tweak it between a thumb and forefinger. 

_ Would Sam touch me like this? _

He imagines it for a minute, Sam's tattooed hand being the one pinching his nipple with those calloused fingertips.

He opens his eyes and flips soaking hair out of his face. Looking down, he realizes he's got an erection. It startles him at first. People didn't just get hard all at once without noticing, and especially not rigid-hard like this. But considering this is the first erection he's gotten in almost three years, it makes a little more sense.

Higgs wastes no time in dealing with the offending organ. His hand makes a beeline for it and starts stroking lazily. He treats this like a medical procedure, his mind heavily detached from the action of jerking off. He presses his forehead against the cold shower tile and shuts his eyes tightly. All that matters to him is the end result of getting rid of the erection. The pleasure was merely a byproduct of this ritual.

_ What if this was Sam's hand? _

He goes still at this intruding thought. He tries to drive it out of his mind, thinking of deep black tar and marine corpses. Black tar.  _ Black tar— _ the fight he and Sam shared so long ago. Their legs wading through waves of tar. Sam's hands all over his body. Sam's hands around his neck. Sam's strong arms wrapping around his body tightly,  _ lovingly. _

**_ What if this was Sam's hand? _ **

He gives himself over entirely to this infectious thought. For a moment, it's like the planet tips off its axis, and Higgs' hand feels wholly disconnected from his body. He imagines Sam behind him, his body pressed up against his back. Sam's flat palm slipping down his abdomen and taking his cock in hand.  _ Fuck.  _ In an instant, he comes heavy and hard, knees buckling against the shower wall. Higgs opens his eyes and watches his semen swirl down the drain. He stands under the spray with his palms spread out against the slick tile until the water runs cold.

It's hardly the first time Higgs has masturbated while thinking about Sam. He's done so many times back at the old shelter when they were still 'mortal enemies.' He thought of it as nothing more than built-up tension that needed to be released. It just so happened to be spurred on after every encounter and traipse with Sam. He'd look up at his wall and stroke himself in a way that could only be described as mechanical until the tension was released in the form of a hot white pool of come on his stomach.

This time's different, though. Instead of feeling relieved, Higgs feels impossibly tense. A sense of shame weighs heavily on his shoulders. The way he had viewed Sam in the past few months was with the chaste eyes of an awkward schoolboy with a puppy crush. When looking at Sam, it's always as if Higgs is seeing him for the first time on that day at Central Knot, where he felt his heart flutter for the first time. He didn't know what to make of it then; he had never felt that way before. Now he's matured enough to be able to call it out for what it is— _ love _ . This love had undergone its own process of maturation, leading him to once again develop a libido.

The desire Higgs feels now isn't the animalistic lust he'd felt in his chiralium-addled mind years ago. It's the desire to be close to Sam, to be held by him. To feel Sam caress the most vulnerable parts of his body and let Higgs touch him in kind. To be as close as two people could possibly be. It's more akin to the concept of  _ eros _ , as the ancient Greeks had called it—a terribly dangerous kind of love.

Higgs finally removes himself from the shower when the water becomes too icy for him to bear any longer. He dries off, applies deodorant, and changes into clean clothes with utilitarian speed. Self-consciously, Higgs squirts a large amount of soap around the drain and scrubs it down with tissue paper. Sam would likely use the shower in the morning, and while jerking off while thinking about the man is one thing, leaving any physical remnants of this torrid fantasy is another. He takes a few deep breaths before the bathroom door, mentally preparing himself to face Sam again.

Sam's sitting in the loveseat watching some loud action film on Higgs' laptop when he returns to fetch his book. The revving engines of cars and motorcycles blare out from the small speakers. Higgs goes straight for the book resting on the coffee table and hurriedly turns for the door.

"You going back outside again?" Sam asks rigidly, eyes still fixed on the screen.

Higgs slowly slinks back into the room. He feels like he's in trouble.

"Yeah."

"Why don't you stay in for a while? We can watch this together."

"Ain't my kind of flick," he shrugs. "Thanks for the offer, though."

"You don't have to watch, then," Sam says. "You can just read beside me if you want."

Higgs meets Sam's eyes. There's something unmistakably poignant behind them. Something like loneliness. It makes his heart feel like it's being pulled in two. Higgs caves and trudges over to sit beside Sam on the loveseat. He spreads his book out on the armrest and flits through to the page he'd dog-eared earlier.

Sitting so close to the man he'd just jerked off to is a whole new low for him. Higgs feels like Sam can smell the shame on him, but if he can, the other isn't saying anything about it. Sam keeps his eyes on the screen, sitting completely still. On the other hand, Higgs nervously bobs his thigh up and down like he's got an incessant tremor. He's got this little pang that he can't quite place; it's something like exasperation mixed with profound confusion.

He wants to ask Sam what any of this means. What he gets out of the transactions that make up their relationship. Sam cooks and cleans for him, orders him books, clothes, and now a guitar. And for  _ what?  _ All he contributes to the household is a warm body, yet Sam's never once expressed annoyance or dissatisfaction. All he ever asks from Higgs is to talk or to sit beside him silently like this.

But Higgs can't ask him anything. So he sits and thumbs over the same sentence in the book repeatedly, waiting for the film to end.

* * *

It's another rough night. Higgs can't sleep; overwrought emotions have sent him spiraling into complete mental chaos. The way Sam looked at him as he sang filled Higgs with something unbearably warm. This searing warmth hadn't left him for a second, even after masturbating. It sat with him, deep within his breast, the whole time he'd kept Sam company, and it followed him straight to his little cot. Eating away at him steadily, putting all his synapses on edge.

_ Should I tell him how I feel? _

He tries to think of the sudden question like a mathematical equation, figures it might make more sense that way. It  _ is  _ just like any other formula involving variables of time and volume, but the real problem is that he already knows the answer. If he waits any longer, after all these months, his built-up affection will make itself known without consent. Hiding it has become far too difficult, and Sam clearly isn't going to let him hide any longer. But when he's with Sam, all Higgs wants to do is brush back that dark auburn hair and kiss him without a word.

Just  _ what  _ to say is the next question on his mind, and there's no mathematical solution to that. Higgs has never spoken the words 'I love you' to anyone in his life. He's never even felt compelled to before meeting Sam. Higgs has had plenty of affairs with preppers, porters, and standard run-of-the-mill citizens. But even while in the throes of  _ 'lovemaking,'  _ he felt nothing resembling affection toward them. The first time he'd felt the deep tremor of heart called  _ 'love'  _ was when he saw Sam for the first time before they'd even exchanged words.

There are so many things he wants to say to Sam!  _ I fell in love with you the first time I ever saw you. I wanted to get to  _ know  _ you, but I couldn't. That's why I started sending out those stupid pizza orders. So I could see you, feel close to you, even if just for a few minutes. And while I lay on that Beach, I thought about you all the time. I felt that if I could see you, just once more, I could die happy. But now that we've become  _ connected  _ like this, I don't wanna die anymore. I want to spend my life with you. I want to see little Louise grow up. And I love you. I've never loved anyone else, and I never will.  _ He decidedly wouldn't include the fact that he masturbated while thinking of him in this pathetic confession. Even if he was going to be completely transparent about his feelings, that would be a bridge too far.

These thoughts and desires flow out of his mind like hot steam, hanging around about his head without __ leaving. Exchanging one form of vexation for another. Thinking about what he  _ could  _ say wouldn't do any good if he wasn't going to do it.

Higgs kicks his legs into the air in frustration, and they fall back to the cot with a loud thud. Sam rolls over abruptly at the sudden noise.

"You're still up?" he grumbles from across the room.

"Yes," Higgs answers stiffly.

This was his chance to do it. Get it over with like ripping off a band-aid. Just say it, once and for all. Nothing comes out; his mouth won't dare form the words.

"Head spinning again?" Sam says after an uncomfortably long pause.

"Oh, it's awful," Higgs laughs sorely. "But I'll just sleep it off."

"Alright," Sam replies through a yawn. "I'm a poke away if you change your mind."

Higgs turns his face to the wall and puts his head in his hands. He tucks his knees into his chest and pulls at his hair. Just as he thought, he still doesn't have the courage to say it.

As he lies stretched out on his cot beside Sam at night like this, listening to the rhythmic sound of the other man's breathing, he thinks about the embrace they had shared on that drunken evening. When Higgs closes his eyes and concentrates hard enough, the places where Sam touched him and left a deep impression tingle lightly. But this pale imitation is nothing like the real thing. The feeling he held at that moment—the feeling that everything was going to be alright—is gone. Instead, he's filled with this excruciating desire to reach out through the pale light and touch Sam.

But he can't, and he knows that.

Higgs spends the next few minutes crying.  _ What's wrong with me?  _ he wonders silently. He's never cried as much as he has in the past few months, not even as a child. His so-called father told him that crying was for pansies and that a man should grit his teeth and bear whatever life threw at him in silence. He's followed those instructions dutifully, up until he returned from that Beach. Now, forty years of pent up emotions seep out through his tear ducts regularly, as if to make up for lost time.

Higgs rolls over on his side and rests his head on a folded arm. He stares out at Sam with tepid tears still streaming down his cheeks. Sam's hair is sprawled out across the pillow, exposing his soft pale skin. Higgs notices a small freckle behind Sam's perfect ear, with another further down below the angle of his jaw.  _ If I could, I would never get tired of kissing him there  _ , he thinks. The thought that it may not be possible to do so squeezes down on his heart like a vice.

The lassitude that comes with crying creeps up on him quickly. Higgs clears out his mind like he's wiping a long stretch of mathematical formulas from a blackboard and sinks back into the cot. A second before he drifts off into unconsciousness, he decides what he must do—he has to leave.

Sam wakes to the sound of rustling. Higgs stands a few feet away from him, placing his scant belongings in a bag.

"You going somewhere?" Sam mumbles, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

"I gotta get out of here."

"Where are you going? What's going on?" Sam sits up quickly, swinging his legs over the bed and staring up in the darkness.

Higgs doesn't respond; he just swings the backpack over his shoulder and leaves the room without a word. Sam follows him with urgency, finally catching up to him at the bottom of the staircase.

"Talk to me, Higgs." Sam reaches for his arm desperately. "What's wrong?"

Higgs turns around and grabs Sam's wrist, looking at him with crystal-clear blue eyes.

"I love you."

He lets go abruptly and turns to the door, swinging it open and letting it slam loudly behind him.

Sam dashes back to his room and throws his grey porter suit on. He straps the carrier to his back and dresses Lou as quickly as possible, but by the time he makes it outside, Higgs is long gone.


	6. Never Let Me Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt so bad about the absolutely depressing place we left off. And this was 95% done, so I finished it up today and decided to put it out a week early. Enjoy!

Higgs meanders aimlessly outside the perimeter of the shelter. Going back to his tiny hole in the ground feels like the most logical thing to do, but something forbids his feet from walking in a northerly direction. He feels strangely drawn to the sandy red knolls off to the west, so he lets his legs take him where they want to go.

It's dawning on him now how stupid this whole thing is. Maybe he should've sat with his feelings for a while, considered his options, and come to some sort of logical conclusion. Like a  _ normal  _ person. Instead of leaving in the early hours of the morning with no odradek, no BB, and no food or water. Sam waking up in the middle of his ' _ great escape'  _ rendered it entirely futile, anyways. He'd been forced to blurt out the very words he was trying to run from.

Higgs stops and stares down at his feet hard. What kind of face was Sam making before he turned to the door? Was he disgusted? Was he angry? He closes his eyes and tries to conjure it up, but there's nothing. Like he's already lost the memory before its formation. Maybe it was  _ that  _ bad.

When he looks up again, he sees the thick veil of dark grey chiral clouds in the sky. Out here, on the edge of BT territory. Alone.

_ I might die if I stay out here _ .

The thought sends all his senses spinning wildly. All the bones in his body solder together, and he becomes horribly aware of the feeling of his boots slipping on the sandy incline. When he'd left, he didn't care about the possibility of dying enough to even consider it. Now, a looming sense of dread comes over him, and his hands start sweating from where they hang motionless at his sides.  _ If only Sam were here with me,  _ he thinks,  _ hugging me again, making everything alright.  _ That impossible wish sends him into a second wave of agony so deep that it manifests physically. A terrible pain builds up in his chest and radiates out into the rest of his body.

He tries to focus on the sky, the sound of his boots in the sand, and the feeling of the wind in his hair, but his concentration is shot. All he can feel is the sensation of his aching heart burning. His legs start to move again, but his mind feels entirely separate from the action. He doesn't even know where he's going; he could be walking in an endless circle for all he knows. Passing by ruined bridges and structures, he's got this dreadful feeling in the pit of his stomach. He vividly remembers being out here with Sam years ago, when he'd summoned up that chiral lion to chase him across deep, dark tar. Now he's alone, scared, and muttering a desperate prayer to himself over and over to try to stop the clouds from bursting above him.

Past the ruins, he comes to the endless black lake of tar that overlooks South Knot. Granules of sand shift beneath his feet as he walks along the sable lapping waves, and he stares out into them, burning with numbness. He hadn't consciously decided to come here, but it feels like more than a coincidence to be in a place that looks almost exactly like that Beach on the edge of the world. The place he'd spent two long years, all alone, just as he is now. He stops walking and sinks his boots into the molasses-like liquid, focusing on the feeling of it against his calves.

* * *

Higgs stands completely still. He's been here looking out at this black chasm for hours now. Thinking about everything—making countless spiral patterns in his mind that all lead to nowhere. There's nothing in his repertoire of memories and feelings to bring him any sort of comfort. He can think of how he's fucked things up with Sam, or he can think of how he stabbed Fragile in the back. Maybe even mix it up and bring up a memory of his uncle screaming at him or Amelie's sickly voice telling him all about the futility of life. But no matter what pops up in his mind, it neither strengthens nor abates the gut-wrenching feeling of heartbreak in him.

The sound of boots kicking sand registers in his ears like a gunshot penetrating right through his thoughts. There's only one person in this whole godforsaken world it could be. Higgs takes a sharp breath in, holds it, and lets it go, closing his eyes and waiting for whatever comes next.

"You shouldn't be out here alone," Sam shouts out to him. "What if it rains?"

Higgs' lip curls up as he opens his eyes. "How'd you find me?"

"Checked the waterfall, Mama's lab, the ruins, anywhere nearby I thought you might go," Sam replies, his voice drawing closer with every word. "Threw me a curveball with this one, though. Took me a while."

"Yeah, well… wasn't looking to be found so…" Higgs sighs, stepping back and looking up at the sky. "This place reminds me of that goddamn Beach. Maybe I'm just feeling a little homesick."

"That isn't your home, Higgs. It's back there with me and Lou."

"Was. But I screwed that right up just like everything else," he says, turning to face Sam. "There's no way I—"

"I'm not taking no for an answer," Sam interjects loudly. "You're coming home."

"I don't belong there. Don't belong nowhere," Higgs tucks his chin into his chest, trying hard to keep his voice from shaking as he speaks. "I'm all messed up."

"We both are," Sam says. "And we can't go it alone. Like I said, we're connected. And when you're gone, or you don't talk to me, it hurts like hell. I know you can feel it, too."

"…I do," Higgs admits, looking off blankly. 

Sam bounds toward him, grabbing him by the hood of his jacket and turning him around. Lou reaches up for Higgs' face, and Sam leans over into his shoulder so she can reach. Her small, warm hand cups his chin, and she gives him a pleading look with those big blue eyes.

"And I love you, too," Sam whispers softly against his collar. "So come home."

Higgs looks down at him with his mouth open wide. Sam reaches up and caresses his jaw, a soft thumb wiping away the kohl running down his cheek. Then Sam's lips are on his. It happens so quickly he doesn't even register it until he feels the direct sensation of Sam's slightly chapped lips against his own. Sam withdraws and rubs their noses together softly, continuing to stroke Higgs' cheek with a broad thumb.

" _ Oh," _ Higgs sighs deeply, like Sam's lips have just explained everything.

"Alright? Let's get outta here."

Sam takes Higgs' hand in his. Higgs grips back tightly like it's the most precious thing in the world. There are so many things to say, but right now, Higgs just wants to focus on the feeling of Sam's soft fingers intertwined with his while they walk through this stretching abyss of sand.

Their hands are still connected by the time they make it back to the shelter. Higgs isn't sure how much time has passed between their kiss and arriving here. It could've been an hour, or a day, or maybe time had collapsed in upon itself and stood still for them from that moment until now. Time has to be moving now, though, as the pitter-patter of precipitation starts to make itself known from outside the archway.

* * *

Lou fell asleep somewhere along their journey back, and Sam's taken her to get ready for bed properly. In the meantime, Higgs rushes off into the kitchen and raids the fridge for anything quick and edible. He stuffs a few pieces of bread into his mouth and washes them down with orange juice. When he's finished, he makes his way to the bathroom to freshen up. He urinates, washes his hands, brushes his teeth, fixes his hair, then spritzes a little perfume on his wrist, all in a nervous frenzy. Once Lou was in bed, he and Sam would talk. That was decided upon silently with little nods and glimmers of the eye.

Higgs just about passes out when he notices Sam in the mirror behind him while he's drawing the wing of his eyeliner. When he looks back at his face, there's a long, disjointed line of kohl on his forehead. Sam slips his arms around Higgs' waist and rests his chin on his shoulder.

"What're you putting makeup on for?"

"It got all smudged up," Higgs bites his lip and adds, "And I know you like it, so…"

"I like  _ you _ ," Sam laughs softly against his ear. "With or without it."

Higgs wipes away the jagged line and fixes his eye up hurriedly. Sam's arms around him make it harder than it should be, but he doesn't want him to let go.

"You ready?" Sam asks, flicking his head back towards the door.

Higgs nods succinctly. Sam's hand slips down to his palm, and the porter leads the way down the long corridor to their bedroom with their hands linked. Sam sits down without letting go of Higgs' hand, tugging on it gently until he sits down beside him. Being  _ on  _ Sam's bed is a strange feeling. Higgs had looked at it many times with longing eyes from his cot, but he didn't imagine he'd ever make it here.

They've been silent for some time, and they're supposed to talk. That's the whole point, but Higgs feels so bewildered by everything that's happened and the feeling of Sam's warm hand in his.

Higgs finally looks up from where their hands rest on Sam's lap and exhales deeply.

"When you said  _ that  _ out there, did you mean it?"

"That I wanted you back here?"

"No, when you said—" his voice quivers, so he tries again, "When you said you love me."

"I don't say things I don't mean," Sam answers plainly. "Do you even have to ask?"

"I dunno. It's not really something I've heard anyone say to me before," Higgs sways his head to the side slightly. "It's kinda hard to believe."

"I'll keep saying it until you get it, then," Sam smiles and caresses his jaw. "I love you."

He looks up into Sam's eyes expressly. " _ Why  _ do you love me?"

"That's a funny question. Is it really so weird that I could come to love someone I spend every day with? That I share a connection with?"

"Considering our history, yes, it's a little weird."

"Well, let it be weird then. I don't care," Sam chuckles, snatching Higgs' hand again. "Alright, why do  _ you  _ love me?"

"If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be here," Higgs starts, smiling so hard it hurts his cheeks a little. "I love everything about you, the way your dimples crease up when you smile—like they are right now. How patient you are with a mess like me. I love you right down to whatever room we're in, as long as we're together and—Christ, I sound like a fuckin' sappy e-card, don't I?"

"Who the fuck cares?" Sam laughs. "I think we've earned the right to be sappy."

Sam lays back on the bed and drags Higgs down with him. They lie sprawled out on the sheets facing each other, soft light beaming down and kissing their skin. Sam reaches forward and places his hand on Higgs' chin, gently rubbing the underside of his jaw with his thumb. Higgs leans deep into it, rubbing against his fingers like a cat.

"Can you kiss me again?" Higgs blurts it out like it's been on the tip of his tongue ever since that moment by the crater lake.

With that, Sam raises his body and places his hand over Higgs' shoulder. He starts leaning in, but it's not fast enough for Higgs. Higgs throws his arms around his neck and pulls him in. This time, Higgs closes his eyes and tries to take in every sensation of this intoxicating embrace. Sam's beard tickling his skin. The light pressure of Sam kissing every inch of his mouth. Auburn locks falling in his face, smelling of floral shampoo and sweat. That perfect button nose pressing into his cheek. Sam lifts his face up slightly, but still close enough for Higgs to feel hot breath brush against his face.

"Hmm," Sam hums, gently tracing his finger along the black scrawl of symbols tattooed across Higgs' forehead. "I've always wondered, what is all this?"

"It's part of the Higgs mechanism for symmetry breaking," Higgs answers casually like that's supposed to make sense to someone like Sam.

Sam scrunches his face up and squints harder at the black symbols.

"I'll be honest. I have no idea what the fuck that means."

"Well, you probably recognize some of it from your Q-pid, right?"

"Dunno. Been a while, and I never really looked too hard at it," Sam stops and traces a symbol over his brow. "I think I remember this one, though. The one that's like…a zero with a line in it."

"That's  _ phi _ . It was in the simplified version of the Higgs field they put on one of those tags," Higgs smiles and looks deep into Sam's puzzled eyes. "Funny, you were pretty much wearing my name by your heart all that time, huh?"

Sam gingerly taps him on the cheek. "Jesus, you really are a sap, aren't you?"

"Wasn't 'til I met you."

That feels so long ago now, and so foreign. They'd met thinking they were polar opposites of each other. Light and dark. Life and death. Hope and despair. In truth, they might be the only people on the entire planet who could ever truly understand each other. Now they lay together, just as they had on that Beach two and a half years ago. But not as enemies on the edge of extinction. As two people, in a bed, holding the deepest parts of each other.

"You said you didn't like your face," Sam says, brushing the hair out of Higgs' face. "But I don't know why. You're handsome."

Higgs covers his face with his hands. "Shut up, will ya?"

"C'mon," Sam chides, pushing his hands out of the way. "Don't be like that."

"Hmph," Higgs pouts pettishly and turns away.

Sam rubs his thumb over his bottom lip and down to his chin. "You're adorable."

"No, I'm n—"

Sam cups his face and kisses him to cut off the words, turning them into a soft sound of surprise breathed out through his nostrils. When he pulls away a good minute later, Higgs has forgotten what they were even talking about before. Sam props himself up on his elbow and takes Higgs' hand, pressing the top of it against his lips. A tear forms at the corner of the porter's eye and he turns away to wipe it with his thumb.

"Are you crying?" Higgs asks softly, gripping Sam's hand a little tighter.

"When you left, I was scared I wouldn't find you," Sam responds, sniffling once. "Don't do that again, you hear me?"

Higgs smiles at him and brushes a few strands of Sam's hair back behind his ear.

"I won't run away again, I promise."

"You better not," Sam turns the corners of his mouth up slightly. "'Cause I'll drag you back every single time."

"What am I, your prisoner?"

"Hmm, yeah. But you like it."

With that playful comment, Higgs leans over Sam and kisses the tip of his perfect pink ear. Then he presses his lips against the freckle behind it, followed by the one below his jaw. Sam locks his arms around Higgs' neck to pull him closer, and they press their foreheads together for a moment before slipping into a desperate kiss. Higgs brushes his fingers through the porter's shaggy hair, breathing heavily as his lips part to deepen the kiss. Higgs' tongue slides over Sam's bottom lip, gingerly slipping into his mouth to feel out the shape of Sam's sharp canines. Higgs can tell Sam's not very experienced with this type of kissing, but he doesn't mind. Instead, he finds it oddly charming.

Without words, they can tell what the other is thinking. They break away from the kiss slowly to strip their clothes away and throw them over onto Higgs' cot. With the way things are going, it seems like that might be all the tattered canvas is good for now. Their lips join again, and Higgs much prefers it this way. Skin on skin with nothing in between, completely exposed to one another. Higgs can feel Sam's cock against his thigh, twitching slightly as it brushes against him. He slips his hand down between them and takes it in his hand like he's just testing the weight of it.

"Wait," Sam says huskily, breaking the consecrated silence between them.

"What is it?"

"I'm not all that experienced with all of this," Sam murmurs quietly. "Sorry if I'm no good."

"I'll do most of the driving," Higgs whispers against his ear. "Alright?"

Sam nods, his eyes darting off to the side.

The preparations that precede penetration are far too cumbersome to tackle for now. That could wait until later. What they need, more than anything else in this world, is to hold each other—to be more than just  _ close _ . To connect their bodies like this, trembling against each other like animals in a storm. Higgs drags his open palms slowly down Sam's torso, his fingers tracing over every ridge and curve. He stops at the cross-shaped scar on his stomach and brings his face up to it, tongue darting out of his mouth to trace the raised flesh. He stays there for a moment, trailing soft kisses down the length of it.

"Can I suck your cock?" he asks with his top lip still pressed against Sam's skin.

"Yeah," Sam says. He's trying to sound collected, but the way he's covering his face with his hand gives it all away.

_ Poor thing.  _ Higgs can tell how nervous he is, but he wouldn't even care if Sam had come in his pants while they were making out. Because it's  _ him,  _ and the only thing that matters is being entwined together like this. He draws a line of gentle kisses down Sam's hipbone while he listens to the mesmerizing ebb and flow of Sam's breathing. Sam's definitely on the bigger side; that's the first thing he notices when he's close enough to see his cock. Thick, uncut, sparse light brown pubic hair sprawled out beneath it. 

Higgs starts out slow, just stroking back Sam's foreskin with his fingers while pressing his bottom lip against the underside of his cock. Then he drags his lips up to the tip of Sam's cock and sinks his mouth down a few inches. The porter's already breathing heavily, laying back and staring down at Higgs with glossy eyes. Higgs' hand snakes its way up from Sam's thigh and starts stroking his shaft while he bobs his head up and down gently, flicking his tongue over the frenulum in a steady rhythm. Cheeks hollow out, and the pace picks up, earning a deep, breathy grunt from Sam.

"Think I'm gonna cum soon," Sam moans lowly in the back of his throat. "Sorry."

Higgs lifts his mouth off Sam's cock with a soft 'pop.'

"It's alright, let it out," he says with his lips against the head of Sam's cock. "In my mouth."

"Doesn't it taste gross?"

"Nope. Just warm and a little salty," he says, stopping to brush his lips against the underside of the man's cock. "I want this… _ please  _ ."

The little plea seems to have a direct effect on Sam. He picks his hand up from where it clutches the bedsheets, and he grabs Higgs by the hair, guiding his wet mouth over the head of his cock and back down again. Without any warning, he presses down until Higgs' lips bottom out at the root of his cock. Then Sam's coming down his throat with his fingers digging in his hair, letting out a deep guttural groan and shuddering hard. Higgs looks up at him and swallows with a kittenish smile, making sure to flutter his eyelashes playfully a few times while he does it.

"Shit, Sammy," he whistles. "You're pretty big, y' know that, right? You're lucky I ain't got much of a gag reflex."

"Sorry," Sam says, still rasping in the afterglow of his orgasm. "It just felt really good."

"Well, thank you," Higgs laughs, brushing his hair back in place. "And it's alright, long as you enjoyed it."

"And what about you?" Sam asks softly, his eyes glancing down between Higgs' thighs.

Higgs hadn't thought about that. All he'd been focused on was making Sam feel good; he wasn't even aware of his stiff cock twitching between his legs.

Instead of answering the question, he crawls towards Sam, cupping his chin and kissing him. It's a feverish kiss, their teeth clacking together as they press their lips together frantically. Sam slips his hand between their bodies and takes Higgs' cock in his hand gingerly. Higgs hisses against his mouth at the direct sensation on his sensitive cock. Sam's broad thumb rubs over the tip and wipes the dribble of precum down from the tip to the base with a broad stroke.

"Oh God," Higgs breathes heavily against Sam's lips. "I love you, Sam.  _ Fuck _ —I love you."

Sam brings his hand up to the nape of Higgs' neck and kisses him again, slowly parting his lips to allow Higgs to slip his tongue in. He starts by just inching it in ever-so-slightly, letting Sam's soft lips suck on it gently. Then Sam's tongue joins his and strokes it tentatively like he's unsure what to do. Sam's hand starts stroking Higgs up and down between them, in an inexperienced and irregular fashion. But Higgs doesn't care; it's the most intense sensation he's ever felt in his life.

"I love you, too," Sam says breathlessly, withdrawing from their kiss.

He slips his free hand down from Higgs' neck, tracing down his spine with the tips of his fingers. The caress makes Higgs' back arch slightly, and he scrapes his teeth against Sam's clavicle in response. Then Sam's hand makes its way past the small of his back, all the way down to the curve of Higgs' ass. Sam starts moving his hand at an erratic pace, focusing on the sensitive head of Higgs' cock, his other hand on cupping his ass, digging fingernails into the soft flesh.

"Oh, Sam,  _ fuck,  _ "Higgs curses against Sam's neck. "Don't fuckin' stop."

Higgs could melt, right here, sticking with sweat against Sam. Everything in him is on the verge of overstimulation—his mind, heart, body, and his cock. He's letting out desperate little whines into the crook of Sam's neck, profane sounds he wasn't aware he could make. He's crying tears of joy, with Sam telling him how much he loves him in a low whisper, continuing to move his hand up and down between their abdomens. Higgs comes hard in the tight channel of Sam's fist, letting out little 'oh gods' and 'fucks', clinging onto Sam like he might slip away if he lets go.

They stay like this for quite a while, silently breathing in the sweet smell of sweat and skin between them. Sam's arms are wrapped tightly around Higgs' shoulders, with gentle lips pressed against his forehead. The reality of being embraced by the man he's loved for so long starts to bring tears to Higgs' eyes again. It's hard to believe that two people with such serrated pasts could become so closely connected at the heart like this in this corrupt and decaying world. Sam's rubbing the nape of his neck as he sobs, whispering  _ 'I know'  _ again and again like he can feel what Higgs is thinking through his skin.

"Your makeup's running," he murmurs when Higgs' sobs start to let up.

"Bet I look like a tramp," Higgs laughs, wiping a tear out of his eye.

"No," Sam says softly. "You look beautiful."

"I dunno if I'm ever gonna get used to hearing you say shit like that."

"You want some more, then?" he asks, but he doesn't wait for an answer. "I've thought about doing this for a long time. Thought about it a lot."

Higgs looks up at Sam from where his head rests on his chest.

"Fucking?" he asks bluntly.

"No—well, yes, but no," Sam stammers. "Holding you. Kissing you. Being in the same bed. But yes…having sex with you, too."

"As did I. Shit…" Higgs hisses as the weight of Sam's words hit him like a truck.

They'd both wanted each other, all this time, but they were both too afraid to be the first to say it. Too afraid that all the hints and little flirtations weren't as deep as they seemed. Higgs can't believe how oblivious he'd been. Things start to line up in his mind, piece by piece: Sam's insistence on Higgs moving in here, that hug, the guitar, and the way they'd looked at each other as he sang. With a simple flick of the finger, it's all startlingly clear.

"We might be the two biggest idiots on the planet," Sam says as if reading his mind.

Higgs gives him a playful slap on the cheek and grasps his hand again. He would never tire of this sensation—Sam's hand holding his, firm yet gentle at the same time.

"If we had met a long time ago, before everything, we could be like this without having to go through all those wrong turns to get here," Higgs says quietly, a hint of sadness in his voice.

Sam rubs a thumb over his chin pensively.

"The most important thing is that we got here. I'm fine with that," he says after a moment. 

Higgs rests his head on Sam's chest, the greying hair there brushing against his cheek softly. Sam puts his arms around his shoulders and pulls him closer, and the gentle thud of Sam's heart is all Higgs can hear. He turns his head and presses his ear down to listen closely to blood flow in and out of the ventricles in a relaxed rhythm. This little pumping sound tells him that this is  _ real _ .

"What're you doing?"

"Listening to your heart."

"Mm, what's it saying?"

"That everything's going to be alright."

Sam slides his hand up Higgs' neck and runs his fingers through his dark hair.

"That so? Maybe it's right."

"I think it is, Sammy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my heart as I wrote this...I teared up many times, making it even harder to write


	7. This Must Be the Place

The first thing that crosses Higgs' mind when he wakes is that Sam might not be there. That he'd passed out somewhere along the crater lake and imagined their conversation, their kisses, and everything that came after. But Sam's really there, his arm coiled around Higgs' chest with his head resting over his shoulder. Higgs keeps still, feeling the rays of warmth emanating from Sam's sleeping body. Sam gently stirs in his sleep, draping and undraping his arm over Higgs' torso, brushing a warm ear over his cheek every now and then. His breathing comes in soft little waves that brush Higgs' cheek, and Higgs lays there unmoving.

Even with the reassurance of Sam's body against his own, it's difficult to believe they've ended up here. Sam loves him. _Him._ Out of everyone in the world, Sam opened his heart to Higgs. The man who had been his mortal enemy for the better part of a year. It doesn't feel real. It makes his heart ache—something he thought he'd be over by now. Sam loves him, and that should be enough to quell this little pang in his chest, but it's still there. The night before had been surreal. Dreamlike. His mind clouded by so many emotions he'd never felt before that everything had just _happened_ at once. Now that it's quiet enough to think, the dull pain returns. It feels like there isn't enough room in his chest to contain the thudding organ.

Sam interrupts the regular rhythm of his breathing with a sharp gasp.

"Morning," he yawns.

Higgs turns around to face him, and it's only a few seconds before he can't control the urge to kiss Sam any longer. It's just a quick, chaste press against his lips like he's testing the waters. Trying to make sure that Sam hasn't changed his mind about everything in his sleep. And sure enough, Sam's hooking his arm around his waist and kissing him back.

"Y'know what I'm thinking?" Sam says, smile in his voice. "I could teach you how to cook today. Got a delivery coming up from Timefall Farm today."

"Mm," is all Higgs can muster in answer. With everything that had transpired yesterday, he's still exhausted even after a full night's sleep.

They lie there in each other's arms for a long while, exchanging soft kisses and pleasant sighs. Up until the baby monitor on the dresser pipes up with a little shriek.

"Well, that's the end of that," Sam chuckles dryly.

Sam gets up and starts fishing through the pile of clothes on Higgs' cot. He puts everything on hastily as Lou's coos grow louder over the monitor.

"Love you," Higgs whispers, barely audible as if he doesn't want to be heard.

Sam leans down and takes his hand, shaking it back and forth a few times.

"Love you too."

Higgs holds onto Sam's hand until the last finger falls out of his grasp and he disappears into the hallway. He yawns and buries his face in Sam's pillow, slowly slipping back into sleep, lulled by the comforting floral scent of his shampoo.

* * *

Higgs wakes up for the second time today. This time, it's a hand on his bare shoulder that pulls him out of unconsciousness. Sam's hand. He can tell just by the way it feels like it's searing his skin.

"Morning again," Sam says. "Well, afternoon now."

"Ah shit, didn't mean to sleep that long," Higgs says, rubbing his temples as he adjusts to the light.

"You needed it. I've never seen you sleep so soundly."

"You were watching me?"

"Popped in here and there."

It's not like Higgs is in any position to judge, not with how many nights he's laid awake ogling Sam.

With Sam fully clothed, it's hard not to become painfully aware of how exposed he is. The light's on now, and Sam's looking right at him. Right at all his scars and little deformities. He shouldn't feel embarrassed, especially not after having the man's cock in his mouth, but he's rushing over to the dresser and pulling on whatever he grabs first. When he turns around Sam's eyes still haven't left his body.

"Everything's all ready to go in the kitchen. Come round soon as you're ready."

Higgs nods and heads for the bathroom. He washes his face to rid himself of the remnants of charcoal running down from his eyes. The cold water helps to abate the little blip of anxiety in his stomach. His relationship with Sam has entered a new chapter. As of yesterday, they aren't just friends or roommates anymore. What they are, he isn't exactly sure. But Higgs would have to acclimate to this new way of living, that much is clear. He would have to change his way of thinking—that deep-seated desire to shut down and hide whenever things get too _real._

 _If I’m just now reaching this level of maturity,_ he thinks, _How old will I be when I fully grow up?_

Higgs manages to put himself together in under twenty minutes, opting to let his hair fall about his forehead instead of styling it. His hair has grown considerably since returning from the Beach. When it isn’t slicked back, the dark strands come down below his eyes. His eyebrows have also started to form a stubble, clouding up the ink on his brow bone. The tattoos are something he mildly regrets now. It'd been done on a whim in the midst of a hysterical fit, and when he came to the next day, he couldn't even remember doing it. Now, they only serve as a constant reminder of the person he used to be.

The short walk over to the kitchen is more than a little nerve-wracking. This would be his first real _date_ if he's to call it that. When he arrives at the door, Sam's sitting at the kitchen table with Louise, his hair pulled back into a ponytail. The girl’s hammering out the same multicoloured scribbles as usual, and Sam looks on with deep admiration as always. He smiles wide, pointing out messy circles and lines and lauding her artistry. After a few minutes of his hanging in the doorway, Sam notices Higgs and gets up, taking him by the hand over to the kitchen.

"Tell me where to start, Chef Bridges," he purrs, a slight smirk on his face.

Sam puts a pan out on the stove and puts the burner on a low heat.

"We're following this recipe here," he says, tapping on Higgs' laptop with the spoon.

Higgs leans over the screen and scrolls through the pictures briefly.

"Alright."

Two cutting boards are out on the island, a kitchen knife resting on both of them. Higgs knows where this should start and where this should end, he can gather that much based on the way the ingredients are laid out. Onion, followed by garlic, then a few bunches of basil lined up above the cutting boards. Sam takes half of the onion and starts cutting it lengthwise toward the root, then he takes the blade through the middle three times. He stops there and gestures for Higgs to follow his lead.

The knife feels a bit awkward in his hand. Higgs can't remember the last time he'd handled a knife for such an innocent purpose, if he ever had. The kitchen knife feels bulkier and harder to handle than his old chiral blade. Still, he manages to follow Sam's instruction with minimal difficulty.

"You're a natural," Sam beams. "Perfect."

"Thank you," Higgs drawls, drawing it out to hide the intense pleasure he feels in that praise.

With fingers holding the onion in place, Sam cuts through his previous incisions, small cubes falling from the blade as he moves his fingers back. Higgs follows suit and cuts down to the root, leaving him with a pile of diced onion.

"Now the garlic."

Sam takes one clove of garlic and smashes it with the flat side of the blade, then he takes his knife and runs it quickly over the small yellow vegetable.

"Think you can handle the other three?"

Higgs gives him a quick nod, picking his knife up again and putting the cloves underneath it. He brings his palm down and flattens them just as Sam had done. Then he takes the knife and rocks it through the crushed cloves, mincing them into fine pieces.

Sam gives him a thumbs-up and takes their cutting boards over to the pan, dropping the vegetables into simmering oil. Higgs watches keenly as the vegetables start to go translucent at the edges. There's something satisfying about the hands-on nature of this. Watching it all come together slowly, step by step. It's definitely more satisfying than eating cold canned soup or ordering pizza.

Higgs heads back over to the island and starts putting the basil into a pile. He's sure he can do this part alone, and a part of him wants to impress Sam, to hear those words of praise again. From the photos, he could glean that the basil needs to be chopped as fine as the garlic.

"You wanna put some music on?" Sam calls over his shoulder.

"Uh, sure."

Higgs sidles behind Sam and gets his hands on the laptop. He opens up his personal library of music, hovering over it for a moment before remembering how depressing and explicit it all is. Instead, he opts for searching for something on the Chiral Network that might do the trick. The first thing to come up is a catalogue of pre-Stranding American music, all neatly sorted by decade and genre. Pop music from the 1980s seemed to be pretty happy—he thinks, anyways, based on the few John Hughes films he watched long ago. Higgs taps the play button and lifts his hands up in prayer. The upbeat hum of synthesizers comes in over the speakers as he walks back over to the cutting board, and he feels like he's made the right choice.

After a flutey synth line, the vocals arrive, delivered in an eccentric way, unlike anything Higgs has ever heard before.

 _Home is where I want to be, pick me up and turn me round, I feel numb, born with a weak heart, guess I must be having fun,_ the strange voice sings.

Sam's behind him, hands on his waist, paying absolutely no mind to the fact that Higgs has a sharp blade in hand.

"Think I like this song," he says over the music. "Might have a favourite now."

"I'm cutting shit up here," Higgs laughs. "Hard when you're clingin’ onto me."

"Well, take a break," Sam whispers in his ear. "Let's dance."

"Dance?"

"Yeah."

"Christ," Higgs mutters in protest, but this doesn't seem to be something that's up to debate.

Sam's turning him around and taking his hands, moving them in time with the swell of the synthesizers. Higgs isn't moving much on his own, he's just letting himself be jerked around like a lanky six foot three ragdoll. He's half laughing, half trying to pretend like he's above this, but deep down he's enjoying it. It’s becoming too difficult to flatten out his mouth when the corners start to turn up into a smile.

Sam has one hand on Higgs' waist, the other linking their fingers and moving their bodies around on the kitchen tile. It's the sort of thing Higgs never thought he'd be doing, and certainly not with Sam Fucking Bridges. He's got this dopey smile on his face now, reciprocating all of Sam's movements in earnest. Something about this repetitive melody and the way Sam's beaming at him has that effect on him. It’s not like he has anyone to impress anyway, Sam can’t dance for shit either, but they’re having fun.

The lyrics are a long string of romantic non-sequiturs that don't form any coherent narrative, but there’s an undeniably heartfelt nature in the way they’re delivered.

_I'm just an animal looking for a home, share the same space for a minute or two, and you love me 'til my heart stops..._

Higgs can see why Sam likes it. It's a bit like them; it hardly makes any sense but it feels right.

They're both laughing as the song fades out, ending with Sam hooking his arms around Higgs' neck and kissing him.

"Your breath smells like garlic," Higgs whispers.

"Sorry," Sam laughs, withdrawing slowly. "I'll let you get back to chopping up your basil, then."

The next few songs are similarly full of polyphonic synthesizers and musings about love and escapism, but to Higgs' disappointment, they don't all make Sam want to take him by the hand and start dancing. 

When he's finished with the basil, he hangs near the stove and watches Sam closely. There's now tomato paste and chili flakes mixed in with the vegetables they'd chopped together, crackling loudly as it cooks down. Higgs cocks his brow as he watches Sam pour a quarter of the sauce into a second smaller pan.

"Why separate it?"

"Because," Sam says, reaching for a glass bottle to the side of the stove. _"This_ is going into ours. Lou's is just getting water and cream."

Higgs takes the bottle and thumbs over the label. _Timefall Farm Triple Distilled Vodka._ The design of the bottle has changed, but he can recall the taste of it by the name alone. Slightly sweet with a bite to it. He'd spent many a night on his cot drinking it straight from the bottle.

"Mind if I take a swig?" he asks, swirling the clear liquid around.

Sam snatches it back and screws the cap off.

"I do mind," he says, adding a generous stream of alcohol to the mixture. "We can drink the rest of this later after Lou's gone to bed." 

Higgs stares hard at Sam, watching all of his movements closely. The way he moves the ingredients around in the pan, the expression of unwavering concentration on his face as the alcohol begins to simmer. Higgs has never watched him cook up close like this before. Usually, he would be hanging about with Louise, watching a movie, or lounging about the kitchen table. There's something unmistakably attractive in the way Sam handles food. Firm yet gentle, a bit like a housewife. He snickers softly at that image, and Sam turns to face him with an eyebrow raised. 

"Take this," Sam says, handing him a small measuring cup. "Add it in slowly while stirring. Slowly," he repeats like he knows Higgs' first inclination would be to dump it all in at once.

Higgs picks up a spoon and starts pouring the cream in a slow, steady stream. It all comes together to make a vibrant orange sauce, smelling strongly of garlic with a faint sweetness. Once it thickens up again, Sam portions out the penne between the two skillets. After a few minutes in the sauce, Sam turns down the heat on both burners.

"Okay, should be good now.”

Higgs retrieves three plates from the cupboard and lets Sam portion out the pasta between them. They finish it off with the chopped basil and shaved parmesan, bringing it over to the table where Louise is waiting patiently. She wastes no time in shoving her papers and crayons flying onto the floor to make room for the plate, something that makes Sam wince just a little.

This cooking _date_ Higgs suggested a few months ago was something he'd done half-jokingly, spurred on by liquid courage. It wasn’t something he expected Sam to remember, or even take him up on. Looking down at the fruits of their labour, though, he has a vague sense of accomplishment. Instead of sitting across the table from the other two, he pulls a chair up to sit right next to Sam. It’s something he wouldn’t have dared to do months ago, but now it comes to him like second nature.

Higgs brings the pasta to his mouth apprehensively. This is the first proper meal he'd ever had a hand in making, and it may look and smell appealing, but he's worried his involvement might have spoiled the dish. He flares his nostrils and lets the fork breach his mouth, awaiting the deliberation of his taste buds.

It's not bad. It's actually—

 _"Fuck,_ it's good," he hisses between bites. "Ah—sorry."

"It's okay," Sam says, mouth full of pasta. "She's definitely heard me say it before."

Louise looks up from her plastic bowl and opens her full mouth.

"Fuck."

Sam looks over at Higgs for a moment before they both break into raucous laughter.

"No, Lou," Sam laughs. "Don't say that, okay?"

"Fuck," she giggles, raising her arms up high. "Fuck!"

"If we don't stop laughing," Higgs says, wiping a tear from his eye. "She's gonna keep saying it."

They take a moment to compose themselves, clearing their throats and trying to look as serious and adult as possible.

"Why're you saying that all of a sudden, Lou?" Sam asks, his voice stern.

She shrugs and puts another forkful of pasta in her mouth.

"Higgs," she says simply, gesturing towards the man with a small hand.

It's the first time the little girl has said his name. The way she says it sounds a bit more like _hicks_ than Higgs, but it’s still a milestone. He just wishes it wasn't in _this_ context. At least she likes him enough to mimic him, just like she tends to do with her favourite cartoon characters. That's _something._ Certainly better than how she'd first viewed him when he first came into her life.

"Well, your daddy and I don't want you saying that," he says, patting her gently on the arm. He's utterly shocked when she doesn't back away from his touch. "Okay?"

"Okaaay," she says without skipping a beat, returning to shoving forkfuls of pasta in her mouth.

With the way Sam’s unable to keep his hands to himself, even while they’re eating, it’s hard to believe he ever had aphenphosmphobia to begin with. Higgs is almost disgusted by the way these little touches make him feel. He’s had the sickly sensation of butterflies in his stomach ever since Sam kissed him for the first time. Small winged insects swirling around inside him, further agitated when Sam’s free hand strokes his thigh or his shoulder. His heart hurts, but it’s a feeling of suffocating warmth he doesn’t exactly want to go away.

The feeling of Sam’s strong arm hooking around his shoulders cracks through his thoughts like thunder and he comes back down to earth again, and he finds himself subconsciously leaning into the embrace.

"Not bad for our first time," Sam says, pulling him a bit closer. "Pretty good, huh?"

"Might be the best damn meal I've ever had."

"Not such a pizza fanatic anymore?"

"Hm. Like your cooking better."

Sam leans in and gives him a quick kiss on the cheek, leaving behind a smear of sauce. In parting, he adds a soft "Thanks."

* * *

Sam Bridges cannot handle hard liquor, even when he's diluting it with orange juice. That's becoming abundantly clear with the way he's struggling to prop himself up, resting his head on Higgs' shoulder, muttering incomprehensible complaints about the terrible romcom they're watching. Higgs had put it on half-jokingly, saying they'd watch fifteen minutes of it and then look for something else. But soon enough they were two or three drinks in, laughing at how cheesy it is.

Higgs still isn’t sure what to call this arrangement. They loved each other—that much had been made clear. But whenever Higgs tries to put a name to their relationship, he draws a blank. He had slept with men before, but they weren’t people he particularly cared about, or _loved._ Higgs couldn’t even describe the way they had touched each other the night before as sexual, either. It was more like a deep need to become acquainted with every inch of each other until nothing was left unknown.

"What are we? I mean—what am I to you?" the burning question slips out of Higgs' mouth.

Sam sits up straight and looks at him like he's gone crazy. Gone crazy again, that is.

"My boyfriend. Thought that was clear."

 _Boyfriend?_ Higgs cringes internally at the way the word sounds. But it's close enough. There doesn't seem to be a single word in the English language that could hit the mark. Like Sam had said, they're _connected,_ so much so that being apart from Sam makes Higgs feel like a vital part of him is missing. And that indescribable pull worked both ways, he knows that much now.

"I see. Boyfriend, then," he echoes, slight unease in his voice.

"Don't like the word?"

"No, boyfriend's…fine."

Sam laughs and takes a shot of vodka, not even bothering to dilute it with juice anymore.

"Don't care what we call it. As long as we're together. S'all I want—all I need. You, and Lou."

"You _need_ me?"

"I do," he's got his arms around Higgs now, speaking right in his ear. "Tried fighting it, now I dunno why I ever did. It was like trying to fight the tide."

"How long have you…" Higgs pauses, biting his lip and pushing his hair back nervously. "Been in love with me?"

"Remember when we hugged that night? First time we got drunk?"

"Yes," he answers slowly. "I remember it well."

"That’s when I knew for sure, there was something about it…" Sam closes his eyes as if taking a moment to recall the embrace. "You felt it too, right? 

No words could convey how deeply Higgs had felt it. Without Sam even elaborating, he knows what he means. It was the first time in his entire life that he'd truly felt complete, like a whole person. Not just fragments of a man stuffed behind a mask, glued together by insidious lies.

He nods once, unable to speak.

"It was probably before that—hell—I’ve probably always needed you."

"I—" Higgs starts, but his chin's twitching. The telltale sign that the waterworks might start.

He takes a moment to ground himself, focusing solely on the way Sam's holding him, fingers rubbing slow circles on the nape of his neck. He's glad that Sam seems too intoxicated to notice the little nuances in his expression like he usually does. It's always the sad blue eyes that give it all away, that's why he had spent so long hiding them away. But the mask is off now, and there's nowhere to hide.

"Think I've always needed you too," he murmurs.

"This is good for us," Sam says, pressing his forehead against Higgs' cheek. "We need this. We've both been alone for so long."

"You're right," Higgs concedes, slender fingers slipping into Sam's hair. "I just don't know how all this _romance_ shit comes so easy to you."

"I was married. Once upon a time."

The way Sam looks as he speaks tells Higgs that he shouldn't prod any further. He keeps silent, leaning into Sam a little harder and continuing to stroke his hair softly.

"Now, lemme ask," Sam sits up and clears his throat. "When'd you start falling for me?"

Higgs isn't that drunk. At least he doesn't think he is. That is, until he opens his mouth.

"Three years ago."

His stomach flip-flops when he realizes what he's said. He’s gone ahead and admitted to wanting Sam from the first time he'd laid eyes on him. That has to make him sound like a creep, it _should,_ but Sam's smiling wide like it's nothing. Like he's said something sweet.

"Jesus, what's wrong with you?" Higgs whispers.

"Not much more'n you," Sam slurs, dragging Higgs into his lap.

Three years was such a long time to wait for all of this. At the same time, with Sam's arms holding him tightly, it felt like they had passed quickly and inconsequentially. It all had to be leading up to this. The Extinction Entity had primed her actors for the stage well; they were two lonely, neglected men looking for anything in this fragmented world to hold onto. Three years ago they had neither the knowledge nor the strength to know that what they needed had been in each other the entire time. But here, in this embrace, it’s clear. Just as clear as it had been months ago, on a drunken night just like this one.

Higgs has never been held like this. Never been loved like this. Before Sam, no one had ever touched him with such intense affection. Now, Sam's pouring out so much love into him at once that he feels like he's drowning. But even with his insides lurching and his heart beating wildly in his chest, Higgs wants to sink into this spinning whirlpool headfirst, even if it's the death of him.

"Hey."

"Hello," Higgs answers quietly.

"You got lost for a moment," Sam says, stroking his cheek with his thumb. "You alright?"

"I'm fine, I think. It’s just—it’s—I dunno how to put it. Whatever this is…"

"What?"

Higgs tries hard to swallow the lump in his throat.

"It’s like my heart’s gonna explode and I want to fuckin' puke. It gets worse when you're touching me like this—but I don’t want you to stop. So don't. _Please_ don't."

"That’s exactly what love feels like."

"You feel it too?"

"Mm. It’s like a sticky, warm feeling in your chest, right?"

"Yeah, something like that…"

"You'll be fine. That's normal."

When he thinks about it like Sam said, like it's just tepid honey filling up his chest cavity, he feels a little more at ease. It feels like something he could get used to.

"I think you’re more experienced than me with the whole _feelings_ thing," he says meekly after a while. "I ain’t ever loved anyone before."

"It’s okay. You have all the time in the world to get used to it."

 _Three hundred thousand years and change,_ he says to himself silently. That's how long humanity has left, if he can believe anything Amelie's told him. But that number no longer seems insignificant. Even a meager hundred wouldn't seem insignificant, as long as Sam was by his side until he let out his last breath. 

The thought that Sam could die flickers in his mind for the second time in his life. Sam might be a repatriate—but he's still human, and still mortal. Even Higgs doesn't know what can kill a repatriate. There isn't much research put into that question, and he's thumbed through it all. Old age or disease is what most of the scientists posit. Something that chips away at _ha_ and _ka_ at the same time, until there's nothing left to crawl out from the Seam.

An inky black tear starts running down Higgs' cheek.

"Don't ever go dyin' on me, got it?"

"Hey, hey, where'd that come from? I’m not going anywhere."

"I don't know," he sobs. "I don't know. I—"

Sam finds his mouth and starts kissing him, and then nothing else matters. It starts out soft and chaste, Sam's lips gently pressing against his, noses brushing against each other as they move. Sam's hand moves up from his back and rests in his hair, tugging gently as they slip into something more frantic. Higgs parts his lips and Sam's tongue intrudes, gingerly feeling out the way he moves, trying to match Higgs’ insistence. Higgs wants this to go further, but something tells him the amount of vodka in Sam's system isn't going to cooperate with that desire. Being in Sam's lap and kissing him is enough—it's more than enough.

"You are," Sam mumbles, breathy and hot against his mouth. "You're beautiful."

"Shut up, I don't wanna argue. Not right now."

Higgs cups his face and kisses him hard in an attempt to mute whatever cheesy drivel might come out of his mouth next. He slips his hand under Sam's shirt, fingertips dancing over that cross-shaped scar, up to the soft hair on his chest. Sam doesn't stop him when he starts pulling the fabric up over his head. Higgs pulls away slowly from their kiss to look at the myriad of stenciled handprints that mark Sam's body. Each one marking a death Sam had come back from. He leans down and presses his lips against each print marking his shoulders like he's trying desperately to kiss all these wounds away. There’s no way to tell which ones Higgs had been responsible for, but he continues on, with Sam's arms wrapped tight around his shoulders.

When the movie fades to black behind them, Sam lets go and pulls back, face flushed. He darts his tongue out and swipes it over his bottom lip slowly. It's the kind of sight that makes it hard for Higgs to keep his lower extremities relaxed. Until Sam slumps over into his shoulder and belches loudly, settling any stirring at once.

"I have to piss like a racehorse," Sam says hazily, rubbing at his temples.

Higgs laughs and detangles their limbs, shoving off to the side of the loveseat.

"How romantic."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I was on track to release something last week, but it ended up being too miserly and I ended up hating it, so I rewrote everything. Figure, fuck it, these are 2 men who have been through enough, let's let them be happy and have their honeymoon phase... for now


	8. Beyond Love

Higgs is in the middle of making an omelet when Sam slides over beside him at the stove and says, "Tonight—do you want to go all the way?"

The spatula falls into the pan and Higgs finds himself shifting off balance.

This isn't something they've talked about, not in-depth, anyway. Sam’s made the occasional comment on his ass, sure. But for the better part of two weeks, they haven't gone any further than getting each other off under the covers when the mood was right. It’s not like Higgs hasn’t thought about it. He just figured he’d wait for Sam to arrive at this junction on his own. Higgs only wishes Sam hadn't arrived there in front of a hot stove.

"Sure," he answers, finally. "Alright."

"We don't have to," Sam puts on a voice far too collected for what he’s doing to Higgs’ psyche right now.

"I want to," Higgs blurts with urgency. "Of course I want to, just wasn't expecting _that_ while I'm making an omelet."

Sam laughs awkwardly and scratches at the back of his neck.

"Sorry, I told you I'm no good at this stuff."

Higgs looks back down at the pan and the sulfurous stench of burning egg registers. 

_" Fuck."_

Sam maneuvers behind him and scrapes what he can out of the pan.

"This one’s mine, my fault it's burnt."

Higgs sits down last, prodding at his omelet with a fork while he looks off into space. Of course, he’d have to know in advance that they were going to have sex. But having to go the whole day with it on his mind feels unfair. He’s both excited and nervous, the feeling running up his spine like dozens of spiders. He’s putting far too much thought into what he’s going to wear, and how he’s going to style his hair as if it matters. Like Sam wouldn’t have him no matter what he looks like.

Sam clears his throat after finishing his travesty of an omelet, breaking the weighted silence.

"What do you want to do today, Lou?"

"Hmm…" she holds the ‘m’ until she swallows her food. "Wanna go outside."

"We can do that," Sam smiles. "Make a day of it, it's not going to rain until nighttime."

That’s good. Sam will be wearing clothes. Not just an undershirt that shows way too much of his body.

* * *

Higgs spreads out on the blanket after lunch and picks up the first book his fingers touch in the darkness of his bag. The _Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám,_ the pages are all yellowed and the spine’s missing. He reckons he might be the only person in the country who owns this collection of poems, if not the whole world. It’s a shame. The poems are full of so many interesting tidbits of a world far away in distance and in time. He’s only just cracked the book open when he notices Sam’s hand inching towards his.

"Can you read to me?" Sam asks as he winds their fingers together.

"You sure about that? I think this’ll bore you to death," Higgs chuckles softly. "I’m reading the _Rubaiyat."_

There’s no recognition in Sam’s face at the title, but he still nods affirmatively.

"It’s your funeral," Higgs smirks. He lifts the book again and flips back over to the first quatrain, beginning to recite the first line in a honeyed drawl.

Higgs is pretty sure it’s all going over Sam’s head, but his expression is serene, pleased. It’s like he just wants to hear Higgs’ voice, no matter what he’s saying. Sam never speaks just to fill silence like Higgs does, he only speaks when necessary. But sometimes he throws Higgs a bone to get him going; asking him questions about Ancient Egypt, or Shakespeare, or what the hell the black-and-white film Higgs had put on was about. Sam just sits back, a slight smile on his face, taking every word in.

 _"_ _Tamám Shud,_ _"_ it is finished. Higgs shuts the book and looks over at Sam. Beyond the shades, he can see that Sam’s eyes are tightly shut.

Their fingers are still interlaced, resting on the blanket between them. Higgs just smiles, so wide it hurts the corners of his mouth. It’s the first time he doesn’t feel any guilt in stealing sidelong glances at Sam’s sleeping face. The man’s ability to fall asleep _anywhere_ has always been a marvel to Higgs.

Louise is sitting down by the waterline, messing about with rocks and sand. It’s not too alarming, Higgs knows she isn’t going to set foot in the water. He’d figured that out the hard way, by trying to coax her into a swimming lesson a few days ago. As it turns out, the last thing a Bridge Baby wants is to be submerged in water again. The lesson had ended in tears for Lou, and thorough shame for Higgs.

Still, with Sam asleep it feels like it's his duty to look after his daughter—no, _their_ daughter—he’s going to have to get used to thinking about it like that. Louise has gotten used to Higgs, might even like him, but it doesn’t do much to ease his nerves. He never knows what he’s doing, and he always seems to get more of a positive reaction when he’s not actively trying to impress her.

"What’cha got going on here, kid?" he says as he squats down beside the girl.

"A pile," she answers, eyes still fixed on the mass of sand by her feet.

"Why don’t we make something pretty?"

"What," it doesn’t come out as a question, more of a statement. She’s too focused on watching sand fall from her fingers to put thought into this conversation.

"Well, y’know," he gestures over the black granules of sand. "A castle. One a princess could live in. Like Cinderella."

"Like Cinderella?" she looks up, finally, blue eyes beaming.

Higgs starts by trying to add to her _pile_ with his hands, but it all falls apart and forms the same misshapen triangle every time. It goes on for a while before he gets the idea to retrieve the tupperware they used for lunch. That works brilliantly; Lou stacking in the sand and Higgs placing the blocks of sand down methodically in a square formation. They’re both quiet and focused on the task at hand, but sometimes Lou’s eyes catch his and there’s such pure joy in her that he can feel his heart melt.

Without warning, Sam’s behind Higgs, chastising his dampened hair.

"What’s up?"

The touch catches Higgs off guard. When he can see Sam, tell he’s about to reach for him, he at least has the time to prepare himself. When he can’t see, it fills him with the embarrassment he’s tried to fight off for weeks.

"Making a castle," Lou answers for him. 

"Oh?"

"Yeah," Higgs says once he's regained the power to speak. "You wanna get the last piece for us? Pick any old rock and we’ll put it on top."

The rock Sam’s picks out is pure white, amid all the black and grey ones scattered around. By the time he’s found it, Higgs and Lou have finished digging a moat around the sandcastle. The rock is entrusted to Lou, and she gets on her tippy toes to place it atop the highest tower. Sam squats down beside them and gives the two of them a pat on the back for their hard work, and Higgs isn’t above feeling a sense of pride as he surveys the finished construction. 

"It’s perfect," he says, smiling.

"Perfect," Lou echoes from below.

Higgs wishes he still had his camera so he could take a picture.

* * *

The day closes with an argument between Sam and Lou. She demands that they take ‘Cinderella’s castle’ back home with them, and Sam has a hard time convincing her that it's not possible. They manage to work out the compromise of taking the shiny white rock home instead, which gets Lou through the door at the very least. But getting her bathed and ready for bed is going to be a new battle.

After a thirty minute fight over whether or not she needs to wash the sand out of her hair, Higgs slinks off into the girl’s room and waits there. There’s a mix of excitement and trepidation working up in his stomach while he sits there with nothing else to occupy his thoughts. Tonight, he's going to go _all the way,_ as Sam had put it. He doesn’t exactly know what that means to Sam. To Higgs, it’s always something along the lines of meeting up with a guy he barely knows, having his half-covered face pushed into a wall or the seat of a truck, and walking away feeling used and dirty. But none of those men had ever seen his face in entirety like Sam has, nor the storybook of scars spread across his abdomen. In a way, he almost feels like _this_ will be his first time.

Higgs doesn’t know what to expect with Sam. When they’re kissing, or jerking each other off, it’s always maddeningly slow and gentle. The idea of that managing to carry over to proper, penetrative sex doesn’t entirely compute for Higgs.

"Jesus," he mumbles quietly into his hands.

"You alright?" Sam asks from the doorway with Lou toweled in his arms.

"Yeah, I’m great," Higgs lies. "Gonna take a shower."

Higgs makes his way to Lou’s room after he’s finished cleaning himself up and meticulously fixing up his hair and makeup yet again. It’s more for his comfort than Sam’s enjoyment, really. He creeps up into the open doorway and hangs there in the doorframe. Sam’s sitting in the dark beside Lou’s tiny bed with his head hanging down, completely still. 

_Christ, was I gone that long?_ _The old-timer fell asleep on me again._

Higgs sighs and clicks his tongue once, twice, and Sam shoots up and pads his way toward him.

"You’re finally ready?" he whispers right in Higgs’ ear. "I was just about to fall asleep."

It’s a difficult trip to the bedroom. Sam’s all over Higgs, one arm around his shoulders, the other wandering all over his body, rubbing Higgs’ chest, his hip, coming down to his ass. Higgs is laughing nervously and kissing along his cheek, staggering with Sam in tow. He isn’t sure if Sam’s clinging to him like this because he’s tired, or if he’s just been waiting for the opportunity to touch him like this all day. They get there eventually, but not without Sam pinning him and pulling him into a hungry kiss every two or three feet.

"You got any condoms?" Higgs asks when they make it through the door.

Sam shakes his head once. 

"No."

"S’alright. I'm clean, and you may as well be a born-again virgin," Higgs says as he sits down in the middle of the bed. "There's lube in my side of the dresser, tucked in a sock somewhere."

Sam looks through a dozen pairs of socks before he finds the tube of lubricant and throws it onto the bed. _Does lube expire?_ Higgs hopes it doesn't because it's been in that sock for at least three years.

Sam walks over to the bed slowly, fumbling in his steps. Higgs can tell something’s on his mind, something serious.

"You’re only the second person I’ve done this with," Sam pauses, fidgets with the hem of his shirt. "And the first man. So just tell me what to do."

"I gotcha," Higgs says, but he doesn't know if it's true.

They’re both fighting with their clothes, trying to strip them off as quickly as possible so they can go right back to touching each other. Sam finishes first and sits back down, watching Higgs peel off his long-sleeve compression shirt. He laughs a little as it gets stuck again and again.

"Shut up," Higgs mutters with the tight fabric covering his face.

Sam stands up and peels it off for him, tossing it to the side with his own scattered clothes. Higgs rests his head against Sam’s shoulder as he pulls down his pants and briefs. When the garments slip down to his ankles and expose his legs to the cold air, all he wants is to feel warm again. He slips his arms around Sam's back and presses his face against Sam's. Sam cups Higgs’ ass and brings him closer, sucking down the line of his jugular, lingering at his collarbone before he sits back down.

"Alright, tell me what to do," Sam says in that intoxicating, gruff voice.

Higgs sprawls out beside him on his stomach, spreading his legs wide enough to offer access.

"You’re gonna slick up your fingers with the lube there. Then you’re gonna put them inside me."

 _"All_ of them?" Sam asks, and Higgs wants to laugh at his naivety.

"No," Higgs chuckles just a bit. "Three will suffice."

Sam does as told, squirting a generous amount of lubricant over his fingers and then rubbing it all over the length of them with his thumb. One finger is nothing, just a bit of pressure, then the second makes its way in and Higgs can feel the muscle start to stretch. Sam scoots up closer to Higgs’ face so he can press his lips against his ear while he twists his fingers inside him. The third finger slips inside of him easily, thanks to the godawful amount of lube, adding even more pressure.

"Now what?"

"Wait a few minutes, just keep moving your fingers—ah," Higgs whines and arches his back as Sam's fingers start working in and out of him.

It’s been a long time since he’s done this, or had _anything_ inside him for that matter. It doesn’t hurt—not yet—but the pressure feels strange. Higgs buries his face in the bedsheets and lifts his ass up a little, moving back against Sam’s fingers. He's half-hard now, cock twitching slightly under his abdomen in anticipation for what’s to come.

"I wanna do it missionary," he mumbles into the mattress. "I wanna see you."

Higgs can feel a flush working up in his cheeks, now realizing that means Sam will be able to see him in turn. Before he has the time to change his mind, Sam flips his lithe body around and gets his hands over his legs. His thighs are thin enough for Sam’s thumb to rest on the underside while his fingers smooth over the tops. Sam’s shorter than him, but this makes Higgs feel so much smaller. With anyone else, it'd make him feel claustrophobic, but with Sam, all he wants is more.

Higgs shuts his eyes to brace himself for intrusion, then Sam grabs the lube again and nervously spreads huge globs of it down to his shaft. Like the grotesque amount between Higgs' legs isn’t enough already.

"I ain't gonna break," Higgs laughs. "You don't gotta be so gentle."

"I want to be, though," Sam murmurs, once again rubbing his cock against him, close, but not close enough.

Higgs locks his legs around Sam's waist and his cock slips inside. It's always that first, initial stroke that hurts the most. His eyes scrunch up and tears start forming at the corners as he takes it to the hilt.

"Does it hurt?"

"You bet," Higgs huffs as he opens his eyes. "But don't you dare take it out. Just give me a minute.”

Sam keeps perfectly still inside of him. Higgs brings his arms up around Sam’s neck and starts kissing him to kill the time. He parts his lip to let Sam’s tongue in. It’s sliding over Higgs' lips and breaching his mouth, while Sam holds the nape of his neck with a strong hand. Higgs feels like he's slipping, his head's so hazy and hot it's like he's running a fever. The ring of muscle relaxes around Sam’s girth in due time, and Higgs lets out a relieved, breathy sigh.

"Alright, start moving."

He's half-expecting Sam to go at it like a jackrabbit, but when he starts moving it's slow and gentle. So slow that everything feels amplified—the heat, the pressure, and the pleasure all starting to build up inside him. Higgs already feels like he could come if a stiff wind hit his cock right.

"You look so good like this," Sam's grunting from above him. "You should see your face right now, it's…gorgeous."

"You don’t have to say shit like that," Higgs mutters, turning his face away in embarrassment.

At least it manages to pace Higgs back a bit. He’s never going to understand Sam’s unabating desire to comment on his appearance.

"But I want to."

Higgs can't argue with that. Wouldn't even know where to start.

He puts his hand on his cock, and for now, he’s just letting his fingers wrap idly around it. He’s using all his energy to focus on the way Sam moves and the vulgar noises coming from somewhere deep in his throat. There’s something in Sam’s expression, the way he manages to look so _soft_ even while they’re fucking; it’s in the parting of his lips, fluttering eyelashes, and the pale pink flush in his cheeks. He looks so vulnerable, like he doesn’t know what he’s doing, and it just makes Higgs want to push him even further.

"Fuck me," Higgs groans, low and desperate as he throws his arms around Sam’s body. "Please."

Sam complies, leaning into him and quickening the pace of his thrusts. It’s exactly the ache Higgs wants, the one he’s more familiar with. Until Sam reaches up and cups his jaw, somehow managing to stroke his cheek gently amid all of _this._ Higgs angles his head just enough to take Sam’s thumb into his mouth, it almost feels like it’s too far, too shameless. But then again, Higgs has never done much to hide his oral fixation.

Higgs knows what he’s doing, eyeing Sam’s reddish complexion as he sinks down on the digit, stopping just above the small star tattoo beyond the joint. The last bit of tenderness in Sam’s movements slips out of him, then he’s _really_ laying into Higgs, not even acknowledging it when Higgs’ teeth clamp down hard.

"Higgs."

He’d provoked it out of Sam, but nothing could’ve prepared Higgs for the way it sounds. Low, breathy, full of need—and unmistakably, affection. Something about hearing the man’s voice tinged with such a vulnerability fills Higgs with deep possessiveness. He eases off Sam's thumb and snakes his hands through shaggy hair, pulling Sam down far enough to kiss him. 

"I’m close," Sam groans, full-throated against Higgs' mouth. "Your legs…you’re gonna have to let go of me."

"Not fuckin’ happening. Don’t pull out," Higgs hisses, tightening the constricting grip around Sam’s body. "I want you to cum inside of me. I wanna feel it."

The sound Sam makes at that is like steam from a kettle; spilling out of his lungs, coming hot into the crook of Higgs’ neck. His hips come down hard and stop at once, and Higgs can _feel_ it. He can feel Sam come inside of him. It’s like Sam’s everywhere—inside of him, pressing up against his body with the stick of sweat—and he's being smothered. Sam's never been much of a moaner, but as hips shudder, he's grunting a list of expletives into Higgs' ear.

Higgs is glad that Sam’s gone first, he doesn’t think he’d be able to take it if Sam was still moving. He doesn’t even know if he can take it like this, writhing beneath Sam like he’s trying to run away from all the unadulterated sensation. Sam reaches between them frantically, taking Higgs' cock in hand and stroking him hard and fast. Sam’s gotten better at this, he's working the channel of his fist around Higgs’ cock just the way he likes. Soft lips and rough whiskers brushing against his earlobe with a whispered ‘c’mon’ is just the final push Higgs needs. And then— _Tamám Shud_ _._ Higgs comes messily over Sam's hand. He can’t help it when he chokes out the most ragged howl of a moan that's only partially suppressed by Sam’s shoulder.

"Holy fuck," Sam mutters, the only sound contesting heaving breaths.

"Agreed," Higgs exhales, his limbs falling down beside him.

As much as Higgs would like to stay connected like this, the feeling of Sam inside of him is starting to become unbearable. He wriggles upwards, using Sam’s sturdy shoulders for leverage. Sam rolls over beside him, head thrown back while he catches his breath.

"Beats what we had going on before," Sam says, a smirk in his voice.

"Sure, but I ain’t doing this more than once a week. You’re liable to fuck my brains out otherwise."

"You’ve got too much brain for that. You and your ancient poetry," he reaches over and pinches Higgs' cheek. "Fuck did any of that even mean?"

Higgs is far too burnt out to consider the nuances of ancient Persian poetry, so he just laughs and coils around Sam’s body. They’re both going to need a shower tomorrow, and clean sheets. But right now, that’s too much to even think about. This uncomfortable stickiness would have to do, at least for now, because they’re both spent and aching all over.

"When are we gonna get rid of that thing?" Sam gestures off at the unused cot still folded out across the room.

Higgs lifts his head weakly and looks over at the tattered canvas. For whatever reason, he doesn’t want to get rid of it. Aside from the mask of Tutankhamun, it’s the only keepsake he has. There’s some odd sentimental value to it, not that he particularly misses his old shelter.

"Why?"

"Could put up a bookshelf," Sam says. "Tidy up that goddamn stack of books in the corner of the room."

"Is this really what we're gonna talk about post-coitus? Furniture arrangements?"

"What do you wanna talk about?"

Higgs sighs long and slow, splaying his palm over the hair on Sam’s chest.

"Tell me something I don't know."

"Alright, here's something," Sam starts, fingers brushing through the hair on his chin. "When you used to touch me, back then, I didn't mind it. With most people, it'd hurt like hell when they touched me. But it didn't hurt, didn't bruise. Nothing."

Higgs wasn’t expecting _that_ heavy. Maybe something along the lines of the name of a childhood pet, or his favourite colour. It hits him even harder when he recalls the way Sam never did back away from his touch.

"Certainly didn't know that," Higgs has genuine shock in his voice. "You always looked so uncomfortable."

"I was. You _were_ a terrorist," Sam chuckles dryly. "And I could never figure that shit out. Why you were the first person in over a decade who could touch me with no reaction."

Without any further word, Higgs throws himself at Sam. His palms skim everything, Sam’s face, his arms, the sides of his body. He doesn’t exactly know what he’s doing, but he can’t stop until he’s covered every inch. Sam’s so warm, it’s like the heat radiates in Higgs’ fingertips and transfers over into his own body. Higgs stops short above Sam’s cock and exhales, bringing his face back up to Sam’s chest and clamping down around his body hard.

"What’re you doing?" Sam giggles, and it’s infectious.

Higgs laughs softly and closes his eyes. There’s the feeling of _wholeness_ again, and nothing else in the world exists. A sentence forms in the mist of Higgs’ mind and rings through his body; _they threw their arms round one another and embraced, in their longing to grow together again._ Aristophanes’ speech from the _Symposium._ It all makes sense now.

"Trying to see if we can meld together."

Sam laughs again and presses his lips against Higgs' forehead softly. 

"How's that going?"

"Still separate beings, I'm afraid."

"Well, keep trying. Feels good."

The silence is too much now. Higgs wants to fill it with words, even if Sam doesn’t understand what he's trying to say.

"You ever read Plato’s _Symposium?"_

It's a rhetorical question, really. Even if Sam _did_ read, he wouldn't be going for ancient philosophical texts, he'd probably be reading some tripe about motorcycles and fast cars. 

"Can't say I have," Sam answers as expected. "Tell me about it?"

"Well, this group of Greek literati come together for a dinner party. They decide to take turns giving speeches to honor the God of Love, _Eros,"_ Higgs is glossing over some of the details, but he’s not trying to give a history lesson. "The playwright of the group gets up and tells the story of creation; he says that humans were originally born with eight limbs and two faces. Fearing their power in this form, the Gods decide that man should be cut in half."

Higgs doesn't want to think about Amelie while he's speaking—but he does. This tale, while presented as fantastical in the original text, makes a little too much sense in relation to them. It seemed that their lives and their collision were preordained by the omnipotent Extinction Entity before they were even born. She had even made them so similar that their places could have been swapped if she'd seen fit. Still, she imparted them with enough differences so that they could be pitted against one another. The _sweet little angel of death_ couldn’t have them seeing eye to eye.

They didn't meet until the time was right for _her,_ she made sure of that. Even though they could have—they should have. Higgs' company welcomed the services of freelance porters, but in the ten years of Sam's career as a freelancer, Higgs never once forged a contract with _Sam Porter._ Maybe, if they had discovered each other long before it was destined, they wouldn't need Amelie to cling to anymore. Her plans for enacting the Last Stranding, or for reuniting America—whichever it really was all along—could have fallen through. 

What perturbs Higgs now, more than anything, is that she seemed to know they would come together like this. _'You'll see'_ she had said, in that feverish dream months ago. Strange that an Extinction Entity would use the last of its power to play matchmaker.

Higgs fails to suppress a dark laugh at his private joke as he continues to recount Aristophanes' speech.

"Sorry, this ain't a joke, I promise…" Higgs clears his throat and continues, "So, he concludes that ‘ _love’_ is merely the name of this desire for wholeness—to be as close as we can get to our original form. That’s what I was thinking about when I hugged you. When we touch, sometimes it feels like you’re an extension of me; one that makes me a whole person. Is that weird?”

Sam’s eyes dart off to the side and he strokes at his chin pensively. 

"No, I feel that too. I know what you mean. What you're saying," Sam pauses, giving himself a moment to mull through the mass of information. "Is that it didn't hurt back then because you're a part of me."

"Makes sense, hmm?"

"Stranger things have happened."

"I’d do it," Higgs says, taking Sam's hand in his. "If Hephaestus stood before us, I’d ask to join my _ka_ with yours."

"Don’t think Gods make house calls," Sam chuckles and brushes Higgs' hair out of his eyes.

"Maybe you should order in some cufflinks, eh?" Higgs wiggles a stubbled brow. "One side for me, one for you."

"Think you’d get sick of me."

"Not a chance."

Sam reaches down and puts his arms around Higgs and then they don't need to speak anymore. They fall into their usual sleeping arrangement; Sam pressed up against Higgs' back, arms wrapped around his waist. It's been the unspoken custom since their first night together, despite being somewhat comical given their relative height difference. But Higgs has never been able to fall asleep so easily since they started doing this, he rarely even has nightmares anymore. Night after night, Sam's arms keep him safe as he drifts off, just as he is now.

"Babe, babe," Sam calls out, shaking Higgs’ shoulder violently. "Wake up."

At first, it’s the corny pet name that disturbs Higgs enough to pull him out of unconsciousness. Then it’s the serious nature of Sam’s expression that really snaps him awake.

"What is it?"

"I don’t know how I didn’t see it before but, here," Sam’s fingers dig into his flesh, right into the surface of a webbed keloid. "There’s a handprint. Just like mine."

"You fucking with me?"

"No. I’m serious," it definitely sounds like he is. "It’s tucked under that scar, but it’s there. You didn’t see this before?"

Without answering, Higgs jolts out of bed and flips the lamp back on. He’s scrambling for a compact mirror, he’s sure he’s got one here somewhere amid all the books and clutter. When he finally finds the cheap piece of plastic, he flips it open so hard the hinges snap. He stares over his shoulder and looks for that scar in the reflection. He knows the one; it’s from being pelted with hot oil when he was around eight or ten.

Just as Sam said, a pale stencil left by the dead peeks out from under raised pink flesh.

"Oh…" the mirror falls to the floor with a loud crack.

The Extinction Entity really did make them one and the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can read the speech referenced from Plato’s Symposium in full here: https://www.laphamsquarterly.org/eros/platos-other-half  
> This translation is slightly different from my own physical copy, however.  
> Sorry for being a sucker for the soulmate tropes. I can’t help it, I’m gay.  
> 


	9. Just Don't Leave

Someone from Bridges is dropping by tonight. That's all Higgs knows; that it's  _ someone. _ Asking questions didn't bring him any answers, to the point he'd just huffed and changed the topic. After everything, Higgs can't understand why Sam would even want to associate with any of them. When he'd broached this topic, Sam gave him a nonchalant shrug and told him they're 'not all bad.' It seems like an odd thing to say about a company that employs the use of stillborn babies, but Higgs doesn't feel much like arguing these days. All he could do was sit back and listen to Sam go on about someone called Deadman and how he'd helped Sam get off the grid. 

The most he could parse is that Sam's hiding something, and it might be for the best. Higgs doesn't like to concern himself with anything beyond the perimeter of their shelter. He found himself hovering over the UCA's search engine with his name plugged into the search bar a few times, but he couldn't bring himself to hit enter. The Demens were long gone, the Chiral Network had brought a semblance of stability to society and the environment, and he had miraculously stumbled into a relationship with Sam Bridges. That's all Higgs wants to know about the world.

The soup he and Sam threw together hastily turned out well. They weren't following any particular recipe; they were trying to rid the fridge of last week's produce before a new shipment came in. Sam left the task of seasoning up to Higgs, so he threw in heaping spoonfuls of the first three spices he saw in the cabinet and prayed. Luckily rosemary, cumin, and paprika seemed to be an adequate combination. There's no sound at the dinner table other than the clink of spoons against ceramic. The three of them are comfortable enough to gorge in quiet.

_ Fragile Express ID verified,  _ the automated voice cuts through the silence, and Higgs can feel his pulse spike. It couldn't be—no, he has to stop himself from even considering _ that.  _ It's nothing; it's probably just a porter bringing in food for the week. Sam shoves his bowl off to the side and wipes his face with a tissue before heading for the hallway.

It's starting to become a cause for concern when five minutes have passed, and Sam still hasn't returned. What he's supposed to do—what Sam asked him to do yesterday—is take Louise into the living room and watch a movie with her until he's finished. But he can't rest his curiosity.

Higgs ends up sitting beside the bathroom door with Lou sitting in his lap. He shushes her cooing with a finger to her lips and listens up. This voice—he knows it. There's no way he could forget. That slight accent, the strange way she speaks, her  _ laugh.  _ It  _ is _ Fragile. 

He wants to scream, but he can't, so he takes the knuckle of his forefinger in his mouth and bites down hard. At the same time, the sound of her voice lends itself to a sense of nostalgia. Fragmented and distant memories of when she used to talk to him just like this, voice warm and amicable.

"I couldn't tell you this over email because it's top-secret at the moment," her voice comes in clearly now that the initial shock has faded.

"Yeah?"

"Die-hardman says they've found signs of life in Alaska. You know what that means, Sam. They're going to be talking about you again."

Sam sighs, and Higgs imagines he's stroking at the hair on his chin.

"Not interested. Sorry."

"I know. I'm just saying…keep a low profile, at least for the next few months." 

"Noted," he sighs again. "That aside…how are you?"

"Well," Higgs can hear the sound of a latex glove slipping off. "Here's the other reason I had to come in person. Beautiful ring, isn't it?"

_ Good for her,  _ Higgs thinks amidst everything else whirling about in his head. The notion that he hasn't completely ruined her life manages to calm him, but not by much. 

"Congrats. I'm happy for you."

The creak of leather indicates that Sam's pulled her into a hug.

"When are you going to find someone, Sam? It's almost been three years since you left. I worry about you being all alone, you know?"

"I have," Sam says as he lets go. "You don't have to worry about me."

"Oh, really now?" she laughs. "What's she like?"

"He," Sam corrects her, some unease in his voice. "He's…eccentric, but I'm happy. Couldn't be happier."

Higgs feels like he could cry if he isn't already. He can't tell—not with this burning sensation in every part of his body. His knees tuck in under his chin and then— _ oh fuck.  _ If he's able to do this, that means Lou's wandered off in his stupor. He gets up, looks all around the bathroom, and she's nowhere to be found.  _ Fuck, this is bad.  _ Higgs is near paralyzed by fear, but he can't afford that, not now. Sam had told him that Lou was never meant to come out of that pod, that it was some sort of heinous violation. If someone from Bridges—fucking  _ Bridges _ —found out about it who knows what might happen to Lou.

He does his best to keep quiet amid his panic as he ducks into every room looking for her. When he opens up the last cupboard in the kitchen and sees nothing, as expected, he squats down and screams into his knees. It's hard for him to believe he's fucked up this badly. Hiding is what he's supposed to be good at, but he's misplaced a three-foot-tall  _ human being.  _ If curiosity hadn't gotten the best of him, he wouldn't even be in this mess to begin with.

Higgs' stomach drops when he makes out Lou's small form at the bottom of the stairs. He barrels down the hallway and nearly trips over himself in the process. He takes Lou into his arms and cradles her there, placing his finger over her lips to keep her quiet as he tries to slink back away. Any sense of relief he feels is immediately snuffed out by the sound of a heavy boot hitting metal.

"Sam, why is there a  _ terrorist  _ holding your daughter?"

"Fragile, hold on," Sam pleads, but she's not having any of it.

"You know what, don't say anything," she hisses. "Don't want to hear it."

"Listen—" Sam grabs her by the sleeve, but she smacks his hand away. "He's changed. He doesn't even have DOOMs anymore. He can't do anything, and even if he could, he wouldn't."

"Sam, he had me take out an entire city, just about ruined my life—my father's fucking reputation, too. He even  _ killed  _ you! How many marks here," she stops and points out the handprints on Sam's shoulders. "Are from him? And all that is just the tip of the fucking iceberg!"

"I love him," Sam chokes out. "Fragile, he's an entirely different person with Amelie gone. He's…just a man who's been alone his entire life, with no ties to anything or anyone—just like me."

It's quiet after that. The dead silence is uncomfortable and tense, and Louise starting to fuss in Higgs' arms doesn't help. Higgs doesn't dare to look at Fragile's face, and she returns the sentiment. Her eyes have been fixed on Sam with a violent fury the entire time.

"Alright then," she mutters after a while, full of disbelief. "I can accept it, but don't expect me to understand it. If you need me, come to me. And don't you dare bring  _ him." _

"I'm sorry, I couldn't tell you."

Fragile scoffs darkly at that and starts backstepping her way out. 

"Wouldn't have made a difference," she spits, and there's a real venom in her voice. "What's next? The two of you going to run off and get married? Well, don't bother sending me an invitation."

Sam opens his mouth a few times, but all that comes out are fragments of syllables cut off by exasperated grunts.

"I'm off," she says, readjusting the collar of her jacket and folding her umbrella out. "I won't speak a word of this to anyone, but do think about how you're going to handle it when they find out. Because they will."

Higgs doesn't wait to watch her jump before he rushes into the bedroom with Lou in his arms. He wishes he could hide his face, wishes he could still disappear into little specks of chiralium.

He's crying now, probably has been for quite some time. It's Lou's hands on his wet cheeks that call attention to it. She's standing up on his leg, trying her best to comfort him, whispering something he can't make out as she wipes his tears away. It doesn't make him feel any better; it only makes him feel worse. He doesn't deserve this. Any of this—her love, or Sam's. Fragile's right. What  _ is  _ a terrorist doing here?

When Sam comes in through the doorway, he looks absolutely defeated. Higgs doesn't know how long it's been since he stormed off, but the conversation between must've continued after he ran off. 

"So, she knew about Louise," he mumbles as he looks off into space. "I didn't know—I panicked."

Sam takes Lou from Higgs' trembling arms and sighs deeply.

"I need to put Lou to bed so we can talk," Sam speaks with a calculated calmness. "Please be here when I come back. Promise me."

"I promise," Higgs manages through gritted teeth. He's not sure if he means it.

Higgs hasn't felt like this in a long time. He's been so coddled by Sam, shielded from the harsh reality of life. He isn't supposed to be here, isn't supposed to be _happy._ He's supposed to be rotting out on that Beach, miserable and alone. For the sake of humanity, and more importantly, for the sake of Fragile. He couldn't bring himself to say anything when she was here, not even an apology. What good would it do? Even if she were to kill him, it wouldn't do anything. He'd come back, puking up black bile, alive as ever.

Discovering that he's a repatriate hasn't bothered him in the past few weeks, but it sure does now. He feels like he's slipping back into his old mindset, and all these months of  _ progress _ —if you could call it that—are coming undone. He wants to die, but he can't, and what a fucking joke that is. He recalls how, once a day, he would sit down on his cot and point the cold muzzle of his rifle at his chin. It would be so easy; all he would have to do is bring the tip of his finger down a fraction of an inch. But as much as he had wanted to, he couldn't. There were too many things he had to do.

But even when the time came to pull the trigger on the Beach, nothing happened. A horrible irony that the moment he'd been waiting for his entire life, and the one Amelie had promised him, refused to happen. 

If he can't die, then he's going to need something else.

That golden blade was right where he'd left it—tucked away in the pocket of his fatigues. It's in his hand, and for now, he's only admiring the curve of it. Seeing his reflection staring back in its sheen puts him in an even darker place. He already hates his face, but seeing it streaked with these ridiculous globs of black streaming down from his eyes is even worse. He's always kept to the usual places when he's done this. Forearms, thighs, sometimes over the places  _ Daddy  _ already left a mark. He's thinking about taking the blade to his face and making a cut through virgin territory now—a nice gash through the ridiculous tattoo on his forehead.

The knife's in one hand, and the other pushes his hair back. He brings it up at an angle; that's the best way to do it, get the most surface area when it sinks in. Exhaling and closing his eyes, he prepares himself to make the slit.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

Higgs brings the knife down and freezes. In an instant, Sam closes the distance between them and knocks the knife right out of his hands, sending it sliding off into the corner of the room. 

"I was gonna…" Higgs whispers. "I'm sorry. Sorry." 

"Babe—"

"Don't call me that."

"Higgs."

Higgs winces with his whole face and hangs his head down.

"Not that either."

"What do you want me to call you?"

"Fuck if I know!" Higgs shouts in frustration. "Nothing. Don't call me anything. I'm not even fuckin' here."

Sam's hand rests on his shoulder, and then he  _ is  _ here. Can't escape the fact that he is. And he can't take it, the weight of everything he's done radiating there in Sam's palm. He needs something else—something he hasn't had in a long time.

"Can you hit me?" Higgs' voice is high and foreign, full of manic desperation and something dark.

_ "What?" _

"I want you to punch me in the face. Hard."

"Jesus! I'm not going to hit you."

"Why not?" he whines and meets Sam's eyes.

Sam shakes his head, crossing his brows meaningfully.

"Because I love you, for one," at least Sam's raising his voice now. But that's not enough. Higgs needs more than that.

"I want to hurt. There's no other way for me to feel better," he pleads, voice quivering with emotion. "Sammy, fucking—just do it. Make me hurt. Just like you did on the Beach, okay? Do it again, please. Please."

He braces himself for impact, angling his face upwards, giving Sam a good vantage point. But instead of hitting him, Sam's stands in front of him, white-knuckled and sobbing with his chin tucked into his chest.

"I don't want to hit you. I don't want to remember that I ever hit you."

_ Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.  _ Higgs doesn't know what to do—he thinks, maybe, if he pushes just a little more, he'll get what he wants. Get that strike across the face he's aching for. But seeing Sam cry is worse than not getting it; it's so much worse. It's like he can feel Sam's pain on top of his own. Higgs isn't crying, but his eyes hurt, and his chest aches something awful. It's this fucking  _ strand. _ If he could, he'd sever the tie that binds right now. Free Sam from him forever. But he can't, and this feeling needs to stop—it has to.

"What," Higgs croaks, and it's like something inside him snaps. "What do you want me to do? I'll do anything. Just stop crying, please. Okay? I'll be good. I'll be good, I promise."

Higgs' first instinct is to throw his arms around Sam, but he isn't sure about touching him, not like this. He doesn't want to taint Sam any more than he has. He flops out of bed and gets on his knees, prostrating himself like the undeserving sinner he is. If he could get any lower, he might stick his tongue out and start lapping at Sam's feet.

"Stop talking to me like this. Like I'm above you," Sam bites down on his bottom lip and draws in a sharp breath. "Like I'm  _ him." _

Sam doesn't need to speak the name for Higgs to know who he's referring to. It's better that Sam doesn't; if he heard that fucking word right now, he might heave up bile. The mere allusion is enough to force the air out of his lungs and cause a phantom burn in the marks all across his body.

"If—if that's what you want."

Higgs is near catatonic as Sam grasps his shoulders and forces him up; it's like he's getting dragged out of thick black tar again. His back hits the sheets and lets his limbs fall, Sam fitting in over an outstretched arm. It's enough to calm Sam down a bit, at least. The strand between them starts to relax and unwind.

"Can we talk?" Sam sniffles and rubs at his eyes. "But no more of that bullshit."

"Okay. Minute," Higgs replies stiffly. He's going to need a moment to take himself out of this—at least enough to be able to put on the guise of being human. 

There's no denying anything Fragile said about him; he knows that. He accepts it.

Then he laughs. Laughs because he doesn't know what else to do.

"She's goddamn right about everything. I'm a fucking monster, Sam."

"No, you're not. Amelie—"

"Amelie isn't the grand scapegoat for everything you or I want her to be," Higgs cuts him off, not wanting to hear any more about the woman. "Truth is, I was fucked up before I even met her. I've killed people—a fucking  _ lot _ of people, Sam.  _ I _ did. Not her."

Sam's knuckles brush over his forehead lightly, and the urge to slap it away is there. But Higgs can't move; he's lost the ability to. His hands are weighted down into the bedsheets and won't cooperate with his desire.

"But you're different now."

"That doesn't bring anyone or anything back."

"After all this time," Sam's voice shakes around the words. "Don't you realise that  _ you  _ are the only reason there is life on earth?"

Higgs lets out a yowl. It sounds more like he's choking than laughing.

"You _can't_ be fucking serious. It's you, Sam. It's always been you."

Sam gets up on his elbows and stares down at him hard.

"I never would have made the journey west if I didn't think Amelie was in danger. Someone else would have done it, and then the whole planet would be a fucking pool of tar."

"Are you sick or something?" Higgs scoffs, folding his arms over his chest in artificial defiance. "If I had the power, I would've brought in the Last Stranding and never looked back. I would have. It's what I wanted right 'til the very end."

He's lying through his teeth, well aware that it's an exercise in futility. Sam knows him too well; he can probably pick up the lie just by the way Higgs' face twists up in annoyance.

"You wrote an email to me in advance, Higgs. You knew what was going to happen before you ever set foot on that Beach. I'm not as smart as you, but I'm not stupid."

Sam's right. Higgs hates that he's right. He'd have to grasp at straws to argue against him.

Of course he knew. As soon as Sam entered the picture, Amelie was no longer the Extinction Entity destined to orchestrate the Last Stranding. She became Sam's sister. But he'd gone along with their plan, dutifully playing his part as her pawn to compel Sam forward until the very end. When he died _ ,  _ it was for Sam, not for Amelie. Not for his ideals—if he'd ever had any of his own. For the man he loved, even if he didn't know it at the time.

"Let us suppose that's true then," he grumbles and unfolds his arms. "Still, how the fuck can you forgive me for what I've done?"

Sam swipes his tongue over his bottom lip apprehensively.

"I don't. I can't."

It feels like a slap in the face. And it's just the singe of pain Higgs needs right now.

"But it doesn't change the fact that I love you."

_ What the fuck is wrong with you?  _ is what Higgs would ask if Sam wasn't pulling him into a kiss. He's made such a nasty habit of doing this, shutting him up with those soft lips whenever Higgs spirals out of control. He's slow to pull away, clearly wanting to linger longer than Higgs might allow. This time, though, it's not enough. Higgs is still grimacing in pain, even though it's supposed to be the skeleton key that pulls him out of everything.

"Calm down. Breathe," Sam says softly. "Inhale through your nose until your stomach expands, then let it out through your mouth. Someone important to me taught me how to do this…" and there's that solemn look in Sam's eyes, the same one from when he briefly mentioned his wife.

Higgs' eyes are closed; he's breathing slow and deep, just as Sam instructed. He's acutely aware of Sam mirroring his breathing beside him, and he can't blame him for needing this as much as he does. Minutes pass, and at the very least, Higgs' pulse is starting to go down. He starts to feel like he's floating out on the water, then the room doesn't exist, and he doesn't either. What exists is the face of his mother. Her round cheeks and short, sandy brown hair. Short because  _ he  _ would yank at it when it was long. She's beautiful, truly beautiful, smiling serenely with her eyes closed. It's always been strange to him—how he can recall every line and freckle in her face, but when it comes to  _ him, _ it's all a blur.

"What're you thinking about?" Sam asks like he can feel the gears in Higgs' mind turn.

"My mother," Higgs whispers, feeling numb and far away. Out of it, but not quite like before.

"Yeah? What was she like?"

"Well, I have this one memory of her. I'm maybe two years old. She's singin' to me, singing so I can't hear him screaming outside the door. _Somewhere Over the Rainbow._ I played it for you, remember?" Higgs looks over stiffly for the glint of recognition in Sam's eyes. "Anyway—she says she's sorry and she kisses me, right on the forehead. I don't get why she's sorry, I wouldn't get why 'til I found her body a few days later, but I'm happy that she's holding me. He didn't like her holding me. Thought it'd make me soft. But I was happy."

It's like Higgs can smell the metallic trace of copper in the stale air of that cramped shelter even now. He can still see her hair sprawled out in a puddle of blood and her  _ smile.  _ The first and last time he would ever see it.

"When I find her, she looks so peaceful. Happy, for once in her life. Don't know if she did it, or if he did, but I'm smiling, thinkin'  _ Mama's happy  _ to myself over and over. Then he comes in, says we've gotta get rid of her before she pops. So we dump her out in the woods, and then we go to this shelter that stinks of alcohol. That's when I get the first strike of my life. Whole time, I'm smiling. 'Cause  _ Mama's happy." _

Sam's beside himself. Higgs can't blame him, he probably wouldn't know what to say to all of  _ that _ either. It's not something he's ever been able to process himself, and he's the one who lived through it.

"Maybe that's the root of all  _ that _ shit. Thinking everyone yearned for death like me, like my mother," he laughs weakly like the mechanical action is taking up all his energy. "I'm not telling you this to make you feel bad for me. That's the last thing I want right now. It was just on my mind, and you asked."

"I really wanna hold you right now. Is that okay?" Sam asks cautiously. At least he's not sputtering something emotional and sympathetic. 

Higgs nods, and Sam scoots up behind him on the bed, pulling Higgs' head into his lap. One hand slides down Higgs' spine, the other brushing through his hair, and it's hard for him to accept this touch. He doesn't feel like he deserves this right now. Still, he's leaning into it and curling his head in closer to Sam. It's reflexive at this point; he can't control this need to be close. He's never really been able to.

"I don't wanna die anymore, Sam. I don't," his throat tightens as he tries his best to choke back a sob. "Maybe it's good that I'm a repatriate now. That way I can't. 'Case I do something stupid."

"I won't let you do something stupid."

Higgs has to cover his face to hide how that makes him feel. He exhales warmly into his bicep and feels his lips betray him as they curl up into a smile.

"Can I tell you something?" Sam whispers as he strokes Higgs' hair gently.

"Shoot," Higgs murmurs as he wipes the simper away with his palm.

"Back at your old place, I'd lay on your cot and read those journals over and over. And I cried every single time. I felt guilty for leaving you there on the Beach, but I didn't have a choice. You know that, and you know why," he pauses and angles Higgs' head upwards so their eyes can meet. "But I wanted to see you again. I needed to."

Sam's crying again, but this time it doesn't hurt Higgs as much. They seem to be happy tears even though the man looks a state.

"Maybe I am sick," he half-laughs, a bittersweet smile on his lips. "I've never had upstanding morals, Higgs. Saving the world was never something I set out to do. I settled into that pretty fucking reluctantly."

Higgs reaches a shaky hand up to Sam's face and wipes a tear away with his thumb.

"But you did. That's what matters."

" _ We _ did."

"You have a fucked up way of thinking."

"I'm alright with that."

Tenderness comes so easily to Sam. Higgs isn't surprised when he's pulled into Sam's lap, and he just can't help hugging back. He shoves his face up against Sam's neck and takes in the comforting scent of his skin.

"You wanna take a shower? Helps a bit with the puffy eyes."

* * *

Sam's right about showers. But it doesn't exactly help Higgs stop crying; he's only crying harder now that the hot stream of water above them offers a veil to hide the tears. Higgs watches with raw eyes as Sam brings inked hands up to his head and starts lathering shampoo that smells of sandalwood and lavender in his hair. It feels good; Sam's hands gently pulling at his hair, fingernails rubbing his scalp. Higgs wants to speak, tell Sam how much he appreciates this, but all words are lost in the well of his mind. He can barely even move his body.

As Sam holds his head under the stream of water and massages the suds out of his hair, he moans. A genuine moan of pleasure coming from somewhere deep in his throat reflexively. The first thought he has is that he hopes he doesn't have an erection. Given their relative closeness, Sam would feel it against his hip immediately. He can't feel anything in his body other than the places Sam touches, so he has to blink water out of his eyes to check.

Higgs isn't hard. But Sam sure is. He's not all the way there, only at half-mast between them.

Hypocrite that he is, he has to ask: "Why the  _ hell _ are you hard?"

"It's…an emotional thing," Sam swallows and swipes his tongue over his lips. "I like taking care of you."

Higgs leans in against Sam's jaw and cracks a half-smile.

"You really are sick, you…" the words die on his lips when they find Sam's ear.

It feels like he's kissing this soft pink ear for the first time all over again. It always does. He uses one hand to push Sam's hair back far enough that he can get behind the curve of his earlobe to kiss the pale freckles lining his jaw. The other hand starts making its way down to Sam's chest, slipping past each muscle one by one. His palm traces down Sam's v-line, but Sam stops him there and lifts his hand between their faces.

"Don't. Just let me…"

"Let you?"

"Just let me do what I'm doing."

Higgs accepts the obscure proposition wordlessly. Sam's lips press against his wet palm, and then he works his way down the curve to his wrist. His mouth brushes through sparse hair, right over the neat scars lined up on his forearm. Higgs' eyes follow Sam's lips, and he starts recounting the origin of every scar.  _ That was me, that was  _ him, _ me, me… _ him. Once Sam's up past his elbow, there's no point in looking anymore because it's all the same.

"Your whiskers are all scratchy," he murmurs into Sam's collarbone. It's less of a complaint, more of a dazed observation.

Sam brings his head back up from Higgs' shoulder and meets his eyes, a flicker of concern in his eyes.

"Want me to go shave?"

"No, don't," Higgs' voice crackles dry in his throat. "Don't leave."

Higgs doesn't mean to come off  _ that  _ needy, but it's already been taken as such. Sam hooks his arms around Higgs' neck and presses their lips together before he has the time to feel embarrassed. Higgs reaches up and brushes through Sam's beard, past the curve of his cheek, and clings to his hair to bring them closer. He starts kissing back as if their lives depend on it—and maybe they do. Sam's lips are soft and gentle under his own, giving way to Higgs' ferocity. Higgs tilts his head to deepen the kiss and licks at Sam's tongue languidly. Sam's wet hair is in his mouth, and that makes him snort a laugh. But it's okay. Everything's okay.

Being exposed to each other without needing to touch  _ that _ way is nice. Higgs isn't sure what happened to Sam's erection, but it's gone now. His cock rests in its flaccid state against Higgs' thigh, no longer stirring in the space between them. It's probably better that he doesn't ask.

A long spell of time passes, and the only thing in the whole world is the sound of water hitting the tile, that, and Sam's arms around him. Higgs can only distinguish Sam as separate from himself when they move. The water sweeps away the sweat and tears of catharsis and takes them swirling down the drain. They only get out once the water starts running too cold to bear.

Sam guides Higgs out of the shower, fluffs a towel out over his hair, and pats the rest of his body dry. It’s filled with care and love, just like everything Sam does for him. He still doesn’t know how to deal with the fact that Sam’s seen him at his worst so many times and fallen in love with him regardless. A dumb smile creeps over Higgs’ lips as he watches Sam shake his hair out like a dog before drying his own body off. It’s unrefined, but Sam manages to make every damn thing he does look good. 

"You look a hell of a lot better," Sam says. "Got colour in your face now."

"You’re too good to me," Higgs whispers, and he wants to say more, but nothing comes.

A slight smile springs to Sam's lips as he pulls him in close with the towel.

"I need this as much as you do." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me explain the ear thing for once since I've referenced it many times. Higgs will bite Sam's ear in his final fight if you don't dodge enough of his attacks, that's where that comes from. I figured he's got a thing for Sam's ears 😉


	10. Shine A Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took a hefty break around the US election to keep up with the news, but I am back with some extreme tooth-rotting fluff. Also thanks to everyone who reads for fucking with my mostly self-indulgence. I started writing this specifically for a couple friends and didn't really expect other people to read, so it's cool to be at over 1k hits now.

After a long ramp-up of excitement, Lou's third birthday is finally here. For a man who doesn't care about his own birthday, Sam has been hyping the occasion up non-stop. Higgs might be inclined to point out the dissonance if he weren't just as excited about it. He's been reading parenting books about what to expect with this milestone, day in and day out. Much to his chagrin, he's learned that temper tantrums aren't just something limited to the age of two; they might get even worse. But usually, Sam and Higgs always seem to manage to negotiate some sort of compromise in the end.

Who knew two neglected kids could grow up to become half-decent parents themselves?

Lou demanded pizza for dinner yesterday, and that would come up from Timefall farm around five. So, Higgs works on the cake in the meantime. Cooking's been all the rage for him since Sam introduced him to it, and it's nice to feel of use in the household like this. It's just plain boxed cake mix, but it's still his first foray into baking, where measurements and ratios actually matter. The instructions are clear enough, foolproof, or rather _Higgs-proof._ Mix the package's contents, three eggs, a stick of butter, and a cup of water—he can do that.

As Higgs whisks the ingredients together, he finally realises what he likes about these mundane activities. He's never felt this sense of domesticity before. Things like putting together a boxed cake or making scrambled eggs probably seem dull to the average person, but Higgs has never lived an average life. He's been stuck on an endless treadmill of torment for decades, from his surrogate father right down to Amelie. Settling into this normal everyday routine has been a blessed reprieve after living through hell. It's a breath of fresh air above the clouds of misery that have hung stagnant over much of his life.

"How's it going?" Sam murmurs from behind. His hand snakes around to plant itself firmly on Higgs' ass.

Higgs huffs a playful sigh and grumbles, "Just fine 'til you came over and groped me."

A sweet laugh and a kiss to the slope of his neck with the sandpaper rasp of facial hair, and Higgs can't play pretend anymore. All he can do is beam a dopey smile and lean back against Sam.

"You really take this shit seriously, huh?" Sam dips a finger into the batter and puts it in his mouth, making a pleased sound around it.

"Your hands clean?"

"Uh…" Sam laughs nervously and starts to sidestep away.

Higgs casts a scowl and shakes his head, turning back to his work.

Icing is worse than baking the cake itself. It's so bad that Higgs considers asking Sam for help, but his foolish pride won't let him. They don't have the proper spatula for this, so he's swapping between a butter knife and a regular spatula, and neither does the job. Higgs probably doesn't possess the gentle prowess for this, either. He goes at it with the same impetuous hand he offers most things, trying to get through with brute force. Crumbs of artificial yellow break into the chocolate frosting, which only gets worse when he tries to smooth them out. It's too thick around the top and too thin around the sides, but it might not get any better.

The pizza arrives right on the hour, sparing just enough time for Higgs to give one final attempt at making the cake look presentable. It works, just barely, as he manages to spread out the top evenly.

"Cake looks great," Sam says, boxes of pizza in one arm, Lou in the other.

"You don't have to lie," Higgs tuts. "It's a mess."

"You made it. 'Course I think it looks great."

The corners of Higgs' mouth turn up into a smile as he sits down at the table. The pizza smells fantastic, but a large part of him wishes they were eating Sam's cooking instead. Lou sure looks happy, though, and that's all that matters. She leans forwards in her booster seat and yanks a piece of pepperoni pizza out as soon as Sam opens the box, a long string of cheese stretching out from the pie to her plate. She takes the string into her mouth and pulls back until it snaps away.

 _"Numnumnum,"_ she hums approvingly.

 _Shit._ Higgs might still love pizza after all. He stuffs half a slice into his mouth and pulls another piece out of the box before finishing the first one. He closes his eyes in bliss and savours the taste of garlic and oregano married with marinara and greasy slices of pepperoni. It's better than he recalls—they must have improved the recipe, or maybe it's just been that long since he had pizza that wasn't frozen.

When Higgs opens his eyes again, Sam's flashing him a contented smile between small bites of his own.

"C'mon, Sam," Higgs smirks and takes another large bite. "I might just eat the whole thing if you don't catch up."

That's definitely not happening, though. Higgs yields on the fifth slice when he remembers there's still a cake to get to. He leans back in his seat and watches the other two try to catch up. The look on Lou's face is one of pure joy—her rosy cheeks glistening with grease and bits of tomato as she gulps down bite after bite. It might just be a coincidence, but Higgs simpers slightly and wonders if the girl is starting to take after him.

"Hang on," Higgs interrupts the dinner table silence and flicks his eyes over to Lou. "I got an early birthday present for ya."

He ducks into the bedroom and picks up the guitar from where it rests beside the dresser, slinging the strap securely over his shoulder. He's already started to strum out the melody before making it back into the kitchen, so he's not surprised to see Lou run up to him when he breaches the doorway.

 _"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you,"_ he sings softly over the guitar.

"Happy birthday, dear Lou," Sam joins in a warbly monotone. "Happy birthday to you."

The singing is out of the way, so the next step is cake. Lou abandons Higgs' pant leg for the cake as soon as Sam sets it down on the table, crawling back into her booster seat and staring at the mess of frosting with starry eyes.

"Birthday girl goes first," Sam says as he makes the first cut. "How much do you want?"

"Lots," she insists, putting on a severe expression and crossing her arms. "Lots and lots."

Sam doles out the appropriate _'lots'_ for a toddler and two larger pieces for the adults. Twisting his fork into the yellow cake, Higgs feels just as apprehensive as the first time he cooked. But the feeling fades as he watches Sam and Lou gorge silently, and his mouth slides out into a slight smile. It's not all that bad—albeit far too sweet for his taste, but other than that, it's adequately fluffy and moist.

Lou still has half a slice on her plate, but that doesn't stop her from demanding, "More."

"That's enough cake, okay?" Sam speaks around a mouth full of frosting. "You still have presents to open."

* * *

It's not his first time today seeing the mass of presents in the living room, but it still manages to shock Higgs all over again. He sets upon the repetitive task of opening up the packages and displaying the contents to Lou. A set of watercolour paints, a Ludens doll, an impressive selection of children's movies, a kazoo—Lou hangs onto that one, blaring the strange sound through the room while continuing to judge her presents silently. There are stranger presents, too; a pumpkin, a salt lamp, and a set of action figures made out of repurposed materials. Those are met with a perplexed, critical eye from the girl. It all evens out back into approval when they come to a box full of colorful clothes from the shelter's previous owners.

One smaller container remains, and Higgs sucks a sharp breath in when he reads the tag. _Fragile._ He exhales and puts on his best fake smile as he undoes the latch and shows Lou the inside. He doesn't even want to look, but Lou trades the kazoo for what lies in the box. It's a small, plump ball made to look like a cryptobiote. When Lou squeezes it, the cheeks fill out with liquid, and she breaks into a soothing giggle.

Higgs feels a wave of calm wash over him. He's glad that Fragile's disastrous visit hadn't caused her to cut contact with Sam. It'd only been a minor blip in his relationship with Sam, instead of the landmine he was expecting.

"You alright?" Sam whispers with the nudge of a neatly wrapped box to Higgs' shoulder.

Higgs nods emphatically and takes the box in hand.

"Here ya go, kid. From us," he says, nervous as he hands the package over. Higgs sinks beside Sam on the loveseat and watches intently as she tears apart the paper savagely.

Lou meets it with a big grin and a giggle before asking, "What is it?"

"Nail polish," Higgs answers, leaning down to point it out. "You put it on your nails, and it makes 'em pretty."

Lou opens the plastic casing and lays all the colours out, and considers them carefully. Her tiny fingers run over the tops of each of them until she settles on a pastel green and brings it over to Higgs.

"Want me to paint your nails?"

"Yes, please," she nods and shoves the bottle into Higgs' hands.

"Hey, what do you say for the gift?" Sam chides from beside them.

"Thank you!" she exclaims and wraps her arms around Higgs' waist.

"You're welcome," Higgs smiles wide around her embrace.

Higgs pats her on the back before gently taking her small hand. Her hand is soft and warm against his, just barely stretching out over the flat of his large palm.

"Keep still, okay?"

Lou nods and lowers her brows in concentration as she watches Higgs start spreading paint over her thumbnail. He's trying hard not to fuck this up, treating it as an intricate surgical process with each stroke across her tiny nails. It helps that she's keeping her hands deadly still. In the end, he makes off with two clean coats and no spillage.

"Don't touch anything for a bit. You can blow on your nails like this," Higgs lowers his face and blows a gentle stream of air over her fingertips that makes her giggle and slink back down in response.

"You are purple, okay?" 

Higgs smiles in agreement and picks up the vial. It's bright purple, like the colour of artificial grape candy. He usually would've gone with a black, but this might bring a little levity to his otherwise dark appearance. He starts with the right hand first because that will be harder, and Lou places her hands on his knees to watch. There are a few mis-strokes on his left hand, but he manages to rub the smudges out with a finger. After finishing a couple of coats, he turns his hands over for Lou to see, and she claps in earnest for his efforts.

"Now, what colour do you think Daddy would like?" Higgs smirks and steals over at a grimacing Sam.

"No way," Sam scoffs.

"Pleaaase?" Lou whines. "Please, Daddy?"

"C'mon, Sam. You gonna say no on her birthday?"

Sam bows in surrender, and Lou hands a hot pink vial over. Higgs tries not to laugh. He really does, but it comes out against his will. 

"Steady," he commands, dragging Sam's hands flat over his thigh.

Higgs isn't surprised when Sam stiffens and frowns in contempt. Nevertheless, Higgs starts swiping the brush over his nails gently, sticking his tongue out in deep concentration. Sam puts on a good show, grunting and sighing when Higgs moves from nail to nail. Higgs only laughs and strokes Sam's hand with his thumb to reassure him that this isn't _that_ bad. One coat will suffice because Sam's liable to pick it off later anyway.

"Ooh, pretty," Lou coos and clasps her hands below her chin.

Sam gives her a crooked smile and a feigned _thanks_ before sulking back into the couch.

"Y'know what else we could do?" Higgs eyes Lou as he blows air over Sam's fingers. "I could give Daddy a makeover."

Sam grunts something under his breath, but Lou's already at his side, looking up at him with puppy dog eyes. And Sam can't argue with that.

"Alright, alright," he concedes. "Get it over with."

Higgs heads to the bathroom and rifles through a makeup pouch full of half-used kohl pencils and tubes of charcoal, looking for something he hasn't touched yet. Near the bottom, there's something red and unusual, still wrapped in plastic casing. It's strawberry flavored lip gloss—why would he even have this? _Oh._

A gift from a well-meaning but ignorant Fragile years ago, around the same time he started using kohl. Even if she didn't understand that it wasn't about cosmetics to him, it was a nice gesture. They didn't have deep conversations about things like that; they were always centered on business or more frivolous topics. Higgs always felt that she wouldn't be able to relate to him if he opened up. She had, after all, come from a loving family. And love set people in a direction Higgs couldn't understand.

But maybe he understands now.

"I said, let's get it over with," Sam calls out from down the hallway to interrupt his bittersweet musings.

Higgs lets out a purgative sigh and pockets a fresh pencil along with the lip gloss.

Sam is sitting with a scowl planted on his face and bouncing his leg up and down impatiently when he returns. Higgs meets him with a shit-eating grin as he crinkles his eyes in amusement, eliciting an irritated groan from Sam.

"Aw, don't sound so happy to see me, Sammy," Higgs laughs. "Lay back on the armrest. I'll get on top of you."

Sam complies, but not without an annoyed sigh. Higgs gets one leg over him, with the other dangling down the front of the couch for support. It'd probably be easier to do this _any_ other way, but the part of Higgs that likes to see Sam squirm has taken over. He brushes Sam's hair back to start, gently combing it back and tucking it behind his ears so that he has more room to work. He goes with the lip gloss first because that's easy. Sam's well acquainted with having his lips touched at this point. Not so much getting a pencil jabbed around his eyes.

"Pucker up," Higgs directs. Sam doesn't _really_ have to, but Higgs can't help himself.

He slides the brush over Sam's lips, leaving behind a red tint and a sleek shine. The lip gloss smells even better on Sam's lips, and Higgs wonders what it might taste like, but that would have to wait until later. Cupping the angle of Sam's jaw reassuringly and closing Sam's left eyelid with his index finger, Higgs starts making gentle strokes of black atop Sam's eyelid. Unsurprisingly, Sam contorts his face in discomfort and lets out a grunt.

"How do you do this every day?" Sam grouses and rapidly blinks his eye. "It's like modern torture."

Higgs lets out a wicked chuckle and starts lining the other eye. It goes a lot smoother now that Sam knows what to expect, offering a much cleaner line. Trying to line Sam's waterline feels like something that might end up in getting bucked onto the ground, so he works out a different approach for the lower lids. He holds the point down flat and makes a sweeping, slightly longer wing below the upper one. It's a style he'd seen in movies but never tried himself, and it suits Sam perfectly.

Once the _torture_ is over, Higgs stands up to admire his work. Sam looks good— _damn_ good. Like Marilyn Monroe, if she was a brunette, and also a man in his fifties.

"Daddy looks like a princess, eh, Louise?" he smirks and pats the girl's shoulder.

"Don't even wanna see what I look like," he grumbles, shaking his hair out before sitting back up.

The remainder of the evening is spent watching movies on Higgs' laptop as per usual. They're working their way through the _Despicable Me_ trilogy the Film Director sent over, and it seems to get more and more ridiculous with each film. But that's fine; Higgs is more interested in snuggling into Sam's arms and focusing on Lou's laughter than what's happening on screen. Halfway through the last film, the girl joins them and lays down over Higgs' lap, and he reaches down and idly combs through curly blonde hair.

It's the kind of image you might see printed on a Christmas card—a sickeningly sweet and idealistic portrayal of life.

This isn't something Higgs ever thought possible. Being in a legitimate relationship with someone who-- _honest-to-God_ \--loves him, much less helping raise a toddler, but he's living it. He doesn't even know what he'd be doing if things hadn't worked out this way because it seems that this is just how things were meant to be—just him, Sam, and Lou in this shelter by the falls.

* * *

With Lou sound asleep after burning herself out, Higgs and Sam sit at the kitchen table and throw back cans of Timefall Porter. The half-eaten cake still occupies the middle of the table, and Sam occasionally swipes bits of frosting between sips of beer.

"Is there even any alcohol in this shit? Gonna take ten cans for me to feel anything."

"We don't need to get drunk," Sam says, pausing to take another sip. "Skip the whiskeydick so we can do something later," he winks and presses the can back up to his lips to hide a smirk.

"God, you're insatiable," Higgs cracks a smile and takes a generous swig of his own.

"Whose fault is that?"

"At this point, you're worse than I am."

Sam laughs and chugs half a can at once, pulling away with a smothered belch into his hand.

"Well, I'm glad we could give Lou a good party."

"Yeah…" Higgs lifts his hand to admire the purple sheen on his fingertips. "Louise is an amazing kid."

"Been meaning to ask," Sam drops his eyelids and wets his lips. "Why do you always call her by her full name?"

Higgs has never really put any thought into that. Out of respect, maybe. He can't deny the fact that there's residual guilt in him for shooting at her pod. It was too easy to think of BBs as inanimate objects when his own had been nothing but a hollow, broken toy. But now Lou is the second person in the world he's loved, and just as important as Sam.

"I dunno, it's just," he falters, tries again, "'Lou'… it's _your_ thing, y'know?"

"It's not exactly my thing."

"How so?"

"My wife's name was Lucy," Sam swallows hard, a tinge of pain in his expression. "So I thought it'd be cute if we named our kid Lou. Louise if it was a girl, Louis if it was a boy…"

Higgs' stomach plunges where Sam trails off. The sigh that comes out of Sam tells him that this story doesn't end well.

"She, uh," Sam stops and smoothes a hand over his beard. "I was out on a delivery, and when I got back, she was dead. Suicide by overdose. She was already going necro, and I tried—but the voidout came, and I was all that was left."

It's a total blindside for Higgs. When Sam mentioned his marriage before, he assumed it came to a natural end with a divorce. Not _this,_ certainly not this.

"I'm sorry," he fumbles over the words in shock. He takes Sam's hand in his as quickly as he can and hopes that holds more than words can say.

"It's okay," Sam squeezes his hand a little tighter. "I've made my peace with it."

Higgs leans over and rests his head on Sam's shoulder, listening to the soft sound of his breathing. He wishes they had a manual clock so that _something_ could fill these moments of silence _._ Breathing, the faint sound of Sam's heart beating in time with his, and the far off spinning of the dryer aren't enough to keep his mind from wandering somewhere it shouldn't.

"What were birthdays like for you growing up?" Higgs forces the words out into the dead air.

"Got raspberry cheesecake every year. And I'd eat it with a nanny, wondering where my mom was," Sam laughs a broken, humorless sound. "She got me a cat once, though. Made life a little less lonely."

Higgs creases his brow and imagines a young Sam all alone at Bridges' HQ, and _fuck,_ that's depressing. So he flips over to the image of the cat instead. Higgs had always wanted one, but it never played out. He'd be away for weeks or months at a time, and with no friends to speak of, the poor thing would've gone hungry. Closest he got was conjuring up that herculean shape of a Sphinx made of tar years ago, but surely that's nothing like the real thing.

"What're cats like? Ain't ever seen one outside of the movies."

"Hmm, moody. But needy too. Bit like you."

That's a compliment Higgs can take in stride, for once.

"The Egyptians saw cats as divine creatures, said they were bestowed with the essence of the goddess Bastet," he curls his lips up as he speaks. "They'd shave their eyebrows off to mourn their cat's deaths until they grew back, too. Interesting folks."

Sam reaches up to brush the sparse hair above Higgs' eye with his thumb and turns his head inquisitively.

"Your eyebrows are growing back. That mean you're done mourning?"

"Close," Higgs chuckles softly and smoothes his brow back out with the grain. "Getting used to being _happy_ , I reckon."

"Me too."

Sam rests his head on his palm and eyes Higgs with a warm, adoring gaze that makes him feel utterly defenseless. It feels like Sam is staring right into his soul. Months ago, Higgs might turn away in embarrassment, but he's no longer afraid of what Sam might find there. Everything in him has already been laid bare, so the only thing Sam might see in his eyes is unadulterated affection and ease.

Knowing that Sam's also taking time to adjust is a relief. Sam's resilient and a much braver man than Higgs could ever be, but he still suffers from the human condition all the same. They had slipped into a liminal space with no way of knowing where things might lead. It would only be natural to feel somewhat uncertain in this brand new world, but the most important thing to remember is that they're not facing it alone.

_If something happens, we'll scrape through just as we have before._

Relishing in that thought, Higgs meets Sam's smile with one of his own.

"When can I take this shit off my face?" Sam says, breaking the silence.

"You serious? It looks great."

"Think you wear it better than me. You actually make it look sexy."

Higgs winces and gives him an annoyed look instead of telling him to shut up because that's getting old.

"Why do you hate when I compliment you?"

"I didn't choose my face," Higgs grumbles in irritation. "The _ha's_ just a worn-out container for the _ka."_

"I like your worn-out container. How's that?"

"Jesus," he mutters. "You don't fuckin' quit, do you?"

"Do you like mine?"

It takes everything in Higgs not to blurt out a resounding 'yes.' That would make him sound like a hypocrite—but Higgs is nothing if not inconsistent. The first time he ever laid eyes on Sam, he could see his beauty. The attraction was only further cemented with time and lots of exposure. There isn't a single thing Higgs doesn't love about Sam, inside or out. Except, maybe, his tendency to back him into corners like this.

"Well," Higgs clears his throat of the embarrassment caught there. "If I could write the beauty of your eyes, and in fresh numbers number all your graces, the age to come would say this poet lies—such heavenly touches never touched earthly faces."

"Wow," Sam gawks, his eyes half-lidded in awe. "Who's that?"

"Shakespeare."

Sam slides his hand out over the table and winds their fingers together again, flashing a dreamy smirk that tells Higgs he's about to say something that might make his skin crawl.

"I don't really…" he darts his tongue out and looks away bashfully before continuing, "Think of people _that_ way 'til I really know them. Hit me hard with you. Hasn't stopped hitting me."

Sam leans over for a kiss, and Higgs meets him steadfast, his hand snaking up for Sam's hair and twisting locks into his palm. He's been waiting for this ever since he applied the lip gloss, and to his surprise, it tastes even better than it smells. He strokes his tongue against Sam's lower lip to take in more of the intoxicating combination of strawberry and ale. They work out a slow push and pull, coming up for rasps of breath, reconvening quickly like the second of interim is unbearable.

Sam gets his hands under Higgs' armpits and drags him up as he stands up. 

"Wait," Higgs says around a kiss. "I want another piece of cake."

"You're already sweet enough."

"That was _awful,"_ he laughs against Sam's neck. "Shit like that won't get you into my pants."

"It won't?"

"No, it will. Definitely will."

This is such a bad idea. It's already late, and Lou's going to be awake in six hours. But Sam is already the unstoppable force to Higgs' immovable object, cajoling him with kisses that taste like sugar. There's nothing to be done about it. Higgs can already feel his conviction slip as he starts letting out low whines against Sam's mouth.

To hell with it. They can burn the midnight oil and get five hours of sleep.

The bedroom might only be the next room over, but getting there feels like the journey of a lifetime. Higgs is a little tipsier than he thought, but it's the good kind, where his body feels heavy and pliable as Sam supports him through the door and drops him off in bed. Sam gets his clothes off in one fell swoop, while Higgs lays back and laughs as he gets into a wrestling match with his own. A hand gliding up the front of his shirt intervenes and saves him from himself, and Sam makes quick work of his bottoms as well. Then Sam slides bare skin over his, and Higgs can feel the throb of his pulse against his skin.

"You're fuckin' beautiful, you know that?" Sam murmurs against the curve of his ear.

"Shut up," Higgs groans, and Sam stops short and props himself up on his hands.

"We can stop if you want to argue instead."

"You're terrible to me," he mutters with his hands pressed into hot cheeks. "Fine, but I hate that shit."

"I'm good to you, and that's why you hate it," Sam says with alarming severity. "Because you're used to being treated like shit."

There's no fight left in Higgs because Sam's a hundred and ten percent on the money. He just meets Sam's eyes with a solemn look that conveys everything.

Sam comes back down and takes the bump of Higgs' adam's apple between his lips and speaks low and shuddered against his throat, "So, just let me love you."

With that, Higgs chokes something between a whimper and a moan, feeling the slight suction of Sam's lips work down the slant of his throat. He surrenders and does as asked—lets himself be loved. Sam kisses down Higgs' chest, along the fretwork of scars and the jut of his ribs. His thumb finds his nipple in the process, and Higgs writhes under a gentle tug. Sam's other hand takes Higgs' hip and keeps him in place as Sam dips to kiss the underside of his taut cock.

"You look amazing when your cheeks flush like that, and your makeup starts running with sweat," Sam hums over the head of his cock and continues, "I can see everywhere I've kissed, and I wanna do it again. I just want to—"

Sam stops there, pressing the plump of his lips up against the slick of precum coming from the tip of Higgs' cock.

"Hey— _shit,"_ Higgs rasps out, but Sam's already taken him into his mouth.

This is happening, then. Sam's giving him a blowjob—the first blowjob he's been on the receiving end of. First times all around. It's all clumsy movements and scrapes of teeth, but Higgs can't bring himself to care. His hands grab fistfuls of auburn hair, making breathy noises of encouragement as Sam works his mouth up and down his cock. Just as Higgs starts getting close, shifting his hips and moaning iterations of his name—Sam eases off and replaces his mouth with the channel of his fist.

"What," Higgs' voice cracks in his throat. "Why did you stop?"

"Wanna see your face when you cum."

 _"Ohfuck,"_ he gasps, and it takes everything in him not to come right then.

Their eyes meet in the pale light, Higgs breathing quick and shallow, Sam starting to stroke him fast and steady. Sam blinks smokey eyes up at him and smirks messy red lips, and that's enough to send him over the edge. Higgs holds his breath and lets it out in a choking gasp as he starts to come. Most of it ends up in Sam's beard and on his lips, and he flinches in response. Sam presses his palm down on Higgs' belly to smother the aftershocks of his orgasm and exhales hot air into the dip of his hip bone.

"Want me to do you?" Higgs huffs once he's recovered his senses.

"No need."

"What, you cum from sucking me off?"

"Not really, more from watching you."

Higgs feels blood rush behind his cheeks again, and he turns around and presses his face into the pillow to hide it.

"I'm gonna go wipe this shit off my face now. You've given me one hell of a reason," Sam stands up and points at the splatter of semen clinging to his beard.

"Asshole."

"I call you beautiful, and you give me 'asshole,' huh?" Sam chuckles and pats the inside of his thigh.

"Shut up," Higgs mutters into the pillow. "You're great, and I love you, okay? Happy?"

"Very happy."

Higgs lets himself smile and slump into sleep as he watches Sam disappear into the hallway. _Very happy_ himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the dude catafalque for inspiring some events of the chapter by linking me pics of NR in makeup, and for editing.


	11. Night on Earth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow, it only took a month. well to be fair, I really wrote around 20k words, including a fragile fic that's already up. next chapter's done, but I likely won't put that one up until the next one is done.  
> side note: some preppers appear in this chapter, names are non-canonical, of course.

Lou's thirty-sixth month free from the BB pod quickly fades into her thirty-seventh, and she's becoming more curious and independent with each passing day. One night, after a particularly thought-provoking bedtime story about a yellow dog named 'Spot' and all his friends, she poses the question of when she will make friends of her own. Sam pointing out that she already has two doesn’t help to abate that curiosity one bit. Later that night, in the middle of the usual bedtime routine, Sam comes clean and admits that he's been putting off responding to a nearby couple about setting up a playdate between Lou and their pair of twin girls.

Higgs instantly jumps at the idea, as expected, and Sam cites all the usual safety concerns. But it doesn't take Higgs long to grind Sam's resolve down by reading passages from parenting books about the importance of play in a child's life. Sam folds and finally sends out the email of confirmation they've been waiting for. It was only going to be an afternoon playdate at first, but the couple swayed them into allowing Lou to stay the night to make the most of it. Courageous and wise beyond her years, Lou finds the idea of spending a whole day with kids her age exciting. She's spent the last few days talking endlessly about everything she plans to do with the twins, and watching the  _ Minions  _ movie is high on that list.

The only thing Higgs failed to consider is that Sam would ask him to come along. They're at the tail-end of the journey when it really hits him that Sam's going to introduce him to his friends. Higgs is lucky the round trip is short enough that they don't need to wear porter suits, just Timefall-resistant jackets if the weather report from the morning turns out to be wrong. At least it saves him the embarrassment of being seen in that awful orange CD suit Sam made him wear before, but not much else. He also nabs Sam's cap from where it usually sits on Tutankhamun's mask to cover up the tattoos on his forehead.

It's difficult for Higgs to keep his footing straight as they pass by the sensors and into the sea of scrapped cars and electronics scattered outside the Junk Dealer's shelter. As if Sam can pick up the tension in his movement, he takes Higgs' hand and leads them into the shelter's entrance.

"Sam?" Higgs calls meekly from behind him in the shelter's archway.

"Yeah."

"What the hell do I say to them?"

Sam shrugs like it's nothing and turns to interact with the terminal.

"You're Peter, and you're a retired porter like me. Other than that, just be yourself."

_ Be yourself  _ seems a little trite when he knows Sam's the only one who could accept him for how he is. Being a watered-down version of himself feels more appropriate. The kind of person he pretended to be at business meetings or around Fragile. Higgs swallows hard as the door swings open to reveal a young woman with dark brown hair dressed in baggy jeans and a mustard yellow blouse. Beyond the denim, two little girls peek out behind each leg.

"Sam! It's good to see you again," the young woman gushes before diverting her gaze down to Lou. "And you too, you've gotten big!"

"So, these are your girls?" Sam asks, leaning down slightly to look at the small figures tucked behind their mother.

"This is Sumire," she says proudly, reaching down to pat the shoulder of the girl to her left and then to her right. "And this is Yuka."

"Hey there," Sam slides his shades up and extends his hand for one and then the other with no bites.

"They're a little shy," the woman chuckles and steps forward to rid the girls of their hiding place. Her eyes brighten and catch Higgs from where he stands behind Sam for cover. "Oh, this must be Peter, right?"

"Yes, hello," Higgs flashes an awkward, tight-lipped smile. "You're The Artist, I presume?"

"It's nice to meet you," she says, extending for a handshake. "You can call me Miu. We don't need titles today."

"Alright. Nice to meet you, Miu," Higgs replies with a more genuine smile and the shake of her hand.

"Daddy, I want down," Lou calls from between them, squirming in the carrier as the girls peek out from behind their mother's legs.

After Sam undoes the straps of the carrier across his chest and sets Lou down on the ground, there are only a few seconds of uncertainty before she kicks her shoes off and gives her new friends a greeting. They run ahead, giggling and skipping down the stairs together without a moment to spare.

"I guess we should follow," Miu laughs, soft as a feather. "They have been really excited. Thanks for agreeing to this, Sam."

"Wasn't my idea to accept. It was Peter's."

"Oh!" she exclaims, looking back at Higgs from further down the stairs. "He's a real catch, huh?"

Higgs' eyes go wide, and he finds himself almost fumbling in his steps. He wasn't aware that Sam had divulged  _ that  _ much.  _ Sam isn't ashamed of me,  _ he thinks, smoothing the self-satisfied smile that creeps up on his lips out with his palm. 

When they reach the bottom of the stairs, Higgs sets down Lou's mountainous luggage, and it becomes very apparent that this is home to a Junk Dealer and an Artist. Sculptures and art made from repurposed plastics and metals line the walls as far as he can see. The one that jumps out to Higgs most is a tree made out of colourful turning cogs. He hangs back at the wall to stare at the moving parts before Sam beckons him into the living room.

The trio of girls are already giggling to themselves in the corner as they dig out an assortment of handmade toys from a wooden box. Across the way is the Junk Dealer, sitting on a leather sofa with his arms folded across his chest. He looks uncharacteristically surly, unlike the enthusiastic and friendly man from the emails, with his pursed lips and hastily slicked-back hair. However, his face softens when Sam waves to him.

"Welcome, I'm Erik," the man stands up and thrusts a hand out. "Why don't you take your hat off and stay a while?"

"I'm Peter," Higgs says, taking on the man's firm handshake. "And I'm good, eh, if that's alright."

Miu and Erik sit together on the sofa, leaving two armchairs for Higgs and Sam, respectively. Higgs can't help but mope a bit about having to sit separately; he's become too accustomed to draping his lanky frame over Sam. Between the two couples is a full plate of chocolate chip cookies, a nice gesture that Higgs isn't very interested in.

"How did you two meet?" Erik asks, getting straight to brass tacks.

Higgs sits back because Sam should do the talking. He doesn't know what Sam's been telling his prepper friends, but it can't be the truth.

"Well," Sam shuffles and clears his throat in preparation. "Peter used to order pizza from me, and when I had no place to go, he offered his shelter."

It's a well-thought-out lie for a man who's usually brutally honest. There's enough truth in it that it doesn't feel entirely off. That was how Sam met Peter Englert, but not how he'd met Higgs Monaghan.

"Yeah, and when he told me he was gonna move out here, he begged me to come with 'cause he was smitten," Higgs looks over at Sam with a teasing smile growing on his lips.

Sam makes a noise in the back of his throat, something between embarrassment and reluctant agreement.

"Things just…fell into place. I'm glad they did."

"Happy for you too, man," Erik smirks in satisfaction. "It's about time you got off the lonely road."

"Our story isn't as cute as yours," Miu sighs. "When we were kids, Erik saved me from the gang that killed my parents. That's how we met."

"Yeah, and when we finally reconnected, the terrorists kept us apart with that attack on South Knot," Erik adds, shaking his head lightly.

Higgs' stomach lurches at that, but he manages to force the muscles in his face to keep a relaxed composure.

"But Sam brought us back together," Miu smiles and drags the man's stiff hands over her lap. "And we wouldn't have our two little angels otherwise. Maybe more to come, too."

"Miu, don't," Erik grumbles quietly. "We're not having this conversation right now."

Higgs darts his eyes towards Sam, and Sam flashes his own look of discomfort. In an awkward bid to lighten the situation, Higgs reaches down for the plate on the coffee table and picks up one of the chocolate chip cookies laid out on the platter in front of them. He takes one cautious bite, and it's not bad, just sweet enough with a nutty undertone.

"These are good. What's in 'em?" 

"Cryptobiote flour. Can't tell the difference, huh?" Miu laughs, the light returning to her face.

The grip Higgs has on the cookie slips slightly at that revelation. He corrects himself and finishes the rest of it in one large, forced bite. He's not a fan of sweets, much less sweets made out of bugs, but he has to play polite.

Sam picks up two of his own, stuffing one in his mouth, followed by the other. 

"They are good," he remarks, completely unphased.

The conversation naturally turns to parenting, stories about potty-training, picky eating, and accidents with finger paints. Higgs finds it surprisingly easy to talk like this, as if all these months with Sam have been practice. A few of his strange jokes even land, and it feels like a small triumph every time. Maybe Higgs Monaghan can act like a normal person. Maybe he's managed to become one.

Once they're sure Lou's settled into her new environment and fit in with her new peers, Higgs and Sam feel comfortable enough to make the journey home. They exchange goodbyes with Miu and Erik before turning to a fussy Lou. She fights with Sam about his hug and kiss goodbye, trying to squirm her way out of his arms.

"If she wants to come home, just send an email," Sam says as he puts her back down on the carpet.

"I don't wanna go home," Lou pipes from below. "I wanna stay here forever."

Sam's shoulders crumple like her words have struck him somewhere deep.

"Can't be forever, kiddo. Just tonight," Higgs laughs nervously and tussles her hair. "Have fun."

"Love you," she mumbles as she turns back to play with the two other girls.

"Love you too." Goddamn. His heart could melt right there.

The two of them utter their final goodbyes before heading back through the art-laden hallway and towards the staircase leading outside.

"Wait, I got something for you," Erik calls from further down the stairs.

Higgs turns around and meets the man halfway down the steps, where he spins an unmarked wine bottle in his hands in admiration. He holds it out, slowly, almost reluctantly.

"Homebrew. Pretty good, helps you unwind," Erik winks. "If you know what I mean."

Higgs gapes slightly, taking the bottle in hand and uttering a quick "Thanks."

The door shuts with a click, and they're back out in the dusty air—an hour and half of walking in front of them.

"Nice girl, weird guy, though," Higgs muses, slipping the bottle of wine into Sam's backpack.

"Yeah. A little."

* * *

Pasta is on the menu tonight because it's simple enough to prepare, and it goes well with wine. The two of them do their usual dance around each other in the kitchen, where Higgs takes on the easy jobs, and Sam handles the actual cooking. The Talking Heads are blasting as they work because Sam's decided that's all he'll listen to. It's all done in under half an hour, set out on the table with the Junk Dealer's wine.

"Fragile got married yesterday. She sent pictures earlier," Sam says nonchalantly before taking a sip of wine.

Higgs takes a big forkful of pasta and puts it in his mouth to waste time. There's a slight panic when he considers that Sam might have known he was listening in on their conversation months ago, but there's nothing in his tone or expression to indicate that. It's more like he's trying to make conversation about an old friend. Higgs swallows the pasta after chewing for far too long and speaks.

"I'm happy for her. I mean it."

"I know you mean it," Sam lifts an eyebrow, deadly serious. "And I know you wish you could talk to her. I know."

Another forkful of pasta. Sure, slithering his way back into Fragile's good graces would be nice, but it's not possible. Not after what he's done. Having the same conversation they'd had by the river half a year ago would be an exercise in futility. So Higgs clears his throat and does his best to change the topic.

"Do you know what her wife's like?"

"A little. I know she's a teacher, and she's a bit older than Fragile."

"Can I see the pictures?"

Sam nods curtly and pulls the laptop over from the island, pulling up the email from Fragile in a few taps. Higgs drops his fork in awe and stares hard at the screen. Fragile's  _ smiling.  _ He's never seen her smile before—at least not a proper smile—with the gap between her front teeth showing. That's the first thing he notices; then it's the charming woman holding Fragile's arm. She has long, dark hair, sun-kissed skin, and like Sam said, she's likely somewhere in her late forties. The woman is wearing a white A-line dress with translucent lace sleeves, while Fragile dons a navy blue tux, covering her from head to toe. Right down to white satin gloves covering her hands.

Sam flips over to the next picture silently as he continues eating. In this one, they're kissing, Fragile's gloved hand cupping the woman's jaw as she cranes up to meet the brunette's lips. There's real love between them; anyone could see that from the way they look together.

"Good looking couple," Higgs remarks in a calculated monotone. 

He feels a bit more than he'd care to let on. Years ago, he'd be able to give Fragile a  _ 'Congratulations, partner,'  _ and an awkward, one-armed hug at this milestone. Now, she can't even stand being in his proximity.

_ Fragile, forget you ever met me. _

Maybe she can now; that's what's best for both of them. But what's underneath white satin gloves will always serve as a reminder.

"You're in your head again," Sam covers Higgs' hand with his own. "Sorry for bringing it up."

"It's okay, Sam," Higgs meets his eyes with a wince of a smile. "It's good to know I haven't fucked  _ everything  _ up for her."

Sam's brow wrinkles in response, like he knows he's supposed to accept the remorse in Higgs' voice but can't.

"I told you, she's not  _ that _ fragile _. _ Her life doesn't revolve around you, not anymore. You're the one stuck in the past."

"Ain't that easy to move on," Higgs lets out a caustic laugh and twists his fork through pasta. "I can't help but think having this breezy apple-pie life with you is selfish of me."

"Then let's be selfish together."

Sam Bridges and his goddamn persuasive eyes and rich, gravelly voice.

Higgs lifts Sam's inked hand and leans down to kiss it, breathing an  _ ‘Alright’  _ over his knuckles. Their ways of thinking continue to be the most significant difference between them, with Sam living in the present and Higgs finding himself drawn to the whirlpool of the past. He's getting used to this compromise, though—being somewhere between sunrise and sunset with Sam. 

* * *

They're in the living room watching some horrible action flick Sam picked out because there was a motorcycle on the cover. Higgs isn't paying any attention, though. He's wrapped himself around Sam like a weighted blanket with his head resting on Sam's clavicle. Once the explosions and ridiculous chase scenes get old, cuddling turns into Sam pressing nipping kisses on the bridge of Higgs' nose. Higgs angles his head to kiss Sam's lips, and Sam slides a thumb behind his to keep him there.

Higgs shuffles without pulling away, and Sam's leg hooks up over his thigh. It doesn't strike Higgs as odd—not until he realises that Sam's grinding against his crotch. This is new,  _ very  _ new. It's always been him in that position, with Sam's cock straining through sweatpants, rubbing against the curve of his ass. It's hard to tell if Sam's just looking for friction or if it's deliberate. Higgs barely knows what to do with himself when Sam spreads his legs to allow greater access.

"Are you wanting to try something new here? Fuck me if I'm wrong," Higgs stops and snickers at the double entendre.

"What do you mean?" Sam says, a playful smirk creeping up on his lips.

"Don't play coy. You know what you're doing," Higgs kisses the smirk right off Sam's face. "And it's drivin' me crazy."

Sam laughs softly and splays his hands over the small of Higgs' back to pull him closer. Higgs shifts his weight and settles over him more easily, now that he knows he's not reading things wrong. He sucks Sam's bottom lip into his mouth before diving in and pushing his tongue back. A thrumming moan escapes his lips when Sam hooks ankles around his waist and presses even closer, eager and trying for more.

"Should I—" Sam starts and slows for another kiss. "Should I go get ready?"

"Yeah, I'm halfway to coming in my pants here."

Higgs sits alone and frazzled while Sam takes the pre-sex shower Higgs has been taking for months. He'd thought that they had worked things out to an exact science. Sam's vanilla as hell, and whenever Higgs manages to coax him into something new, it usually ends with Sam toppling him over and finishing in plain old missionary. Still, Higgs can't complain. The sex he's had with Sam tops any other encounter under his belt by far. It's always tantric and mind-numbing, focused more on intimacy than the act itself. But they have more time to themselves tonight, and maybe that's where the sense of adventure is coming from. Or perhaps it's the wine.

When Sam returns in only a towel, and he's an awful shade of white, trembling from too much time spent in the shower.

"I, uh," he mutters. "Have a brand new appreciation for you."

Higgs chuckles and shoots up to meet him in the doorway, reaching down to take both of Sam's hands in his.

"Bedroom, then? Or I could take you right here."

"Bed's better," Sam answers sheepishly, flicking his tongue out nervously.

A tiny, impish smile creeps up on Higgs' lips in the face of Sam's embarrassment. They're across the hall and in the bedroom in no time, and all Sam has to do is drop his towel and stretch out on the bed. Higgs, on the other hand, has to peel off painstakingly tight clothes and search for lube. He fumbles in the drawer for the bottle of numbing lubricant Sam ordered as an act of consideration. He hates it personally; the pain's always part of the fun for him. But for Sam, it's a good idea.

Higgs wastes no time in getting down to slicking up his fingers and settling onto the bed. He lifts Sam's leg and folds it up against his chest, his palm fitting perfectly over one of the pale stencils. It's strange to be on the other side of this because he's not blindsided by sensation and lust. Higgs can see everything: the way Sam's brow wrinkles as his fingers force their way inside, Sam's cock twitching up against his scarred stomach. Their shared gaze is fiery and intense, and the air is calm and still, interrupted only by shallow gasps. It almost feels like a form of worship, until Sam breaks out laughing through the tranquility.

"Stop laughin', you're pushing me out," Higgs says, unable to stop laughing himself. "What's so funny, eh?"

"Just can't believe I'm doing this," Sam chuckles and hides his face in his hands.

"What made you want to try it in the first place?"

"I dunno. Curiosity, I guess."

Curiosity seems like ample reason for a man who's only had two sexual partners in over five decades. Higgs takes that and runs with it, slipping in a third finger along with the other two, crooking and thrusting them gently until Sam falls off his elbows and groans. His free hand glides up Sam's thigh to his cock, and Sam's lungs shudder like he's running out of air. Higgs only holds it there, feeling it stiffen in his hand as he continues to work with his fingers.

"I think we're good to go," Higgs hums, reveling in the delicious groan Sam makes when he withdraws his fingers.

Sam drops his forearm over his face as Higgs gets between his legs, exposing a damp armpit to the air. The room's cold, but Sam's still sweating like summer below him, skin glistening in the low light. There's a bead of condensation running down from his armpit, and Higgs follows it with an inquisitive tongue. He hangs there in the hollow under Sam's arm, breathing in the sweet smell of sweat.

"What're you doing?" Sam murmurs beside his ear.

"I wanted to know what it tasted like," Higgs says as he comes back up for air. "Tastes good."

Higgs can't get over the way Sam looks underneath him. His cheeks flushed with strands of damp hair falling in his face, blinking fast as he waits for Higgs to do something— _ anything.  _ Higgs sits back on his heels and spreads more of the numbing lubricant over his cock, more for himself than for Sam. All the time he's spent getting Sam ready for this and listening to him grunt and moan under his ministrations has him on edge already.

"You ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

This isn't Higgs' first time on top, but it's wildly different from having a quickie with someone he'd never have to see again. He's going to have to treat Sam like a delicate piece of porcelain and resist the voice in his core telling him to lunge like a hungry animal. He rests Sam's ankles over his shoulders and starts to slide his way in, maddeningly slow, as Sam breathes sharply below him. He's not even halfway inside when Sam's hand reaches for his stomach and starts shoving him out.

"Relax. It'll hurt, but it's better to get it over with at once," Higgs says, stroking Sam's thigh gently in an attempt to calm him down.

"Okay," Sam's voice shakes around the word. "Try again."

Higgs slicks his cock up for good measure and tries again. It feels like an hour has passed when he's finally inside, pressing Sam's knees to his shoulders with his weight. Sam's so stiff with nerves Higgs has to force his hips down so he doesn't get pushed out, but it feels incredible. It's a nice change of pace, even if he'd prefer to keep their usual roles. Higgs exhales something wild and breathy and opens his eyes again, looking down to see Sam grimacing in discomfort. It unearths something almost maternal in Higgs, making him drop everything to brush his hair out of his face and leave a light kiss there.

"I'm sorry, darlin'," he whispers softly against Sam's forehead. ' _ Darling?' Where the fuck did that come from? _

It seems to coax Sam into relaxing, so it's good it came from somewhere.

"I'm okay. Just gimme a sec."

A second is a lot longer in Sam's world than it is in Higgs'. It takes more self-restraint than he possesses to keep still as he waits for the go-ahead. Everything in him is crying for more, and he just wants to take all of Sam at once. But that's a surefire way to guarantee that Sam will never let him do this again. Sam's doling out more trust than Higgs might deserve, and he doesn't want to screw with that. There's no kissing to pass the time, either—Higgs doesn't trust himself to behave if he's given any more external stimulation.

"Alright," Sam speaks after an eternity. "Go ahead."

Sam's hand runs down Higgs' backside to wrap around his thigh and goad him on. Higgs starts off slow and awkward, making stuttered movements as if he's never done this before. Higgs uses Sam's shifting expression as the litmus test to determine a rhythm that'll work for both of them. When he goes too far, Sam lets him know by creasing the corners of his eyes, and when it's too slow, Sam tightens the grip around his thigh. Higgs is pretty sure he's got it down once Sam throws his head back, and his mouth forms a perfect 'o.'

"Yeah?" he asks, leaning down to connect their foreheads and look at Sam's cock where it lies impossibly taut against his scarred stomach.

_ "Yeah, _ fuck," Sam's voice dips low in his throat. "You're so doing good. Keep going."

Those words shoot through Higgs' brain like white-hot heat. Sam's voice already does things to him on its own, but to hear the man praise him with such intense pleasure in his voice makes the roll of his hips pick up speed despite himself. Higgs wonders if it's like that for Sam too, feeling absolutely overwhelmed but still aching for more. Sam's panting ‘ _ fuck _ ’ into the curve of Higgs' neck, gripping his waist whenever the air gets knocked out of him by the impact of their bodies, so it must be. This seems to be satisfying a need neither of them had known they'd possessed until tonight.

Time and rhythm are lost between Higgs' greed and Sam's arms, trying to pull Higgs closer like it's possible. Desperate sounds slip out of Higgs' lips because he couldn't hold back even if he tried, not when Sam's hand drags down his spine to the curve of his ass—wordlessly urging Higgs to buck and grind and empty himself inside. The feeling of Sam's fingernails digging sharply into his flesh ends up being the final push—and Higgs reaches for Sam wherever he can, putting one hand over his pec and squeezing down hard as he comes. His mind numbs out as he continues to thrust and work his load into Sam, but a deep-throated groan hits his ear and brings him back into focus. 

Sam's following hot on the heels of his orgasm, tensing and shaking underneath him, moaning a jumble of words like they're being fucked out of him.

"Did you—without even touching—" Higgs pants, moving his mouth to catch Sam's, swallowing the last of his moans.

Higgs slides his hand between them and smears the hot pool of come all over Sam's stomach to confirm, before reaching further down to slide out without breaking the kiss. His breathing slows first after they settle and collapse, skin sticking with perspiration. Higgs needs a moment for his mind to catch up to his body. Somehow, he seems even more rocked and breathless than Sam, whose hands are there to right Higgs' balance when he starts slipping.

"What'd ya think?" Higgs asks with a shaky laugh.

"It was alright," Sam answers plainly, feathering sweaty hair out with his fingers.

"'Alright' is the understatement of the year when you come without laying a hand on your dick," Higgs teases as he flops out beside Sam on the bed. "You loved it."

"I  _ liked  _ it. It's like cake—something I could have once a year."

"I do prefer bottom bunk anyway, but does this mean you wanna start getting more experimental?" Higgs asks with a tinge of hope in his voice.

"What does 'experimental' even mean?"

"Y'know, like, you could tie me up or something. Or we could get some toys, costumes too, maybe," he stops there and throws Sam a sly look. "I wouldn't even mind drinking your—"

"Definite no on that one," Sam cuts him off with a palm cupping his mouth. "The others are okay. But I guess I don't really care. Long as it's you."

Higgs sticks his tongue out of his mouth and licks the palm of Sam's hand to force recoil.

"I don't really mind if you want boring missionary for the rest of our lives."

"What's wrong with missionary? I like being able to see your face," Sam smirks, waiting patiently for the look of revulsion or gripe that doesn't come. "What, you done arguing with me about that?"

"Guess I am," Higgs admits defeat readily. There's no fight left in him there—Sam's already ground him down with his endless compliments.

"That's good," Sam smiles and presses a quick kiss to Higgs' lips. "You wanna take a shower? I feel disgusting."

* * *

They're back in the bedroom, not long after a shower that mostly consisted of making out under the steaming water. It's only half-past ten, but they're both spent and sleepy-eyed after both the journey and exceptional sex. Sam spreads out on the bed and drops his arm out perpendicular to his torso to give Higgs a place to nestle, and Higgs springs upon it without a second thought.

"If I could go again, I would," Sam sighs, sliding his hand down the line of Higgs' body to splay his palm out over his ass.

"Don't think you've got the refractory period for that, old man." 

"I ain't that old. You're only a decade younger than me."

"It could always be closer to two."

Sam grunts in playful annoyance and hooks Higgs in with the crook of his arm, bringing his free hand up to slide languidly through Higgs' hair. 

"What's your real name?" the fingers brushing through his hair stop, and Sam lowers his head to meet his eyes.

"Higgs  _ is _ my real name."

"Come on. Real people aren't named Higgs."

Higgs presses his face into the crook of Sam's elbow and expels hot air there before looking up to face him again.

"Truth is," he puffs against Sam's skin again. "I dunno what it was. I don't think I've heard it since I was real little. People called me Monaghan for a long time, 'til I started my company and gave myself a name."

It's a deliberate choice not to bring up the fact that he'd only been addressed by insults for years, but Sam's smart enough to catch the implication. A tattooed hand slides down from his hair to rest on the scarred skin that covers his heart. Higgs hates being so full of pitfalls like this. It's only natural that Sam would want to know more about what he was like before meeting Amelie, but he wasn't doing too hot then, either.  _ Daddy  _ never called him by name—it was always something like  _ moron, idiot,  _ or even  _ faggot  _ if he felt particularly testy that day. Higgs could live with  _ Monaghan. _ It might've been  _ his  _ name, but it was also his mother's. A little piece of her to hold onto.

"Higgs Monaghan," Sam says experimentally as if he's never said it before. "I love you."

"I love you, too," Higgs murmurs. "…Sam Bridges."

There's a split second where Higgs considers hearing  _ Bridges _ on the end of his own name, which makes him tense up just a touch. He hardly knows what  _ marriage  _ means; it always struck him as two people sanding down their edges in an attempt to fit together, not unlike the couple he'd met today. But there's no obstacle like that with Sam; they've already sealed their broken parts together.


	12. In My Darkest Hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things happen. Also a Low Roar title, finally.

The night hadn’t been as pleasant as the day. Sam's nightmares don't happen often, but when they do, they're relentless. Higgs often wakes up to his body being pulled up by the armpits while Sam mumbles and gasps Amelie's name. It rattles Higgs secondhand, as he vividly remembers having the same dreams himself, but Sam needs him through the tremors and tears building up in his eyes.

The usual whispers of  _ 'I'm here'  _ and calling Sam's name pull him out of the depths of terror, just enough to coax him into lying back down. Sleeping is another battle, though. Higgs stretches out beside him, brushing his hair back and looking into his glassy blue eyes. Sam stares back in forced silence, like a lost child, as Higgs rubs his shoulder. Somewhere along the way, Sam falls back asleep, and Higgs pulls the other into his arms in an attempt to keep him safe.

Higgs hasn't slept much himself by the time he slips past a slumbering Sam. He'd spent most of the night trying to contain Sam's nocturnal tremors in his arms. But someone needs to pick up Lou, and he's the only one fit to do it. It's only a three-hour round trip, and that's a walk in the park compared to his grueling days as a porter of about fifteen or sixteen years old. So, he sucks it up and eats a hastily-made burnt omelette before getting ready to head out.

Sam's still sound asleep when Higgs passes by the bedroom for a last once-over. He's pulled the covers snug over his body, with only his head peeking out from beneath. Higgs pads his way over to the bedside quietly, leaning just above Sam's face to push back strands of russet brown. There's a pale freckle just below Sam's hairline, illuminated by a streak of light from the doorway. Higgs dips down to press his lips against it, soft enough not to wake him but enough to sate his burgeoning affection.

Desires fulfilled, he turns for the door with a satisfied smile.

* * *

The journey's cut and dry, even on his own. Higgs follows the same path they took yesterday with no problem, cutting through the edge of former MULE territory beyond the broken and worn-out sensors. He trails along them silently for some time, whistling and looking up at the cloudy blue sky as he walks. At the end of a song, he hears footsteps crunching in the sand behind him. Ignoring it for a minute doesn’t make it go away, either.

It's no trickery brought on by sleep deprivation; someone really is trailing behind him.

It can't be Sam, he was still sound asleep when Higgs left, and there's no way he could catch up this quickly. Plus, it'd be awfully bizarre for his  _ boyfriend  _ to follow him for a good kilometre without saying anything. Amelie's out of the picture, too. He's about ninety percent sure she's gone for good, and if it  _ was  _ her, there would be the clack of heels. Not the driving force of a heavy boot. Fragile is the third person who could know his whereabouts, and perhaps she had come to give him his due what-for. But the raucous step suggests someone taller and heavier than a five-foot-six woman.

Higgs almost wishes it was Amelie or Fragile. At least he knows how to deal with them. He can feel his heart start to race, pumping hard to keep up with his quickened gait. With his nervous system beginning to work overtime, his breath starts to come in quick gasps that border on hyperventilation. It could just be a porter on his way to deliver a package to the Junk Dealer's shelter; that's his last theory before it's all unknown. There's only one way to find out. He's going to have to divert his course to see if the person follows. No respectable porter would make a detour to follow a stranger. They're all about getting extra points for haste, after all.

He takes a sharp turn south, sprinting in the direction of the crater lake above South Knot. The blood rushing in his ears and the pumping of his heart is enough to obscure any potential following footsteps, so only time can tell.

Sure enough, the heavy footsteps bound towards him as he gasps for air at the edge of the lake. Turning around is the last thing he wants to do while he's unarmed and alone, but it's his only option. That, or keep the person on his trail for hours until they both grow tired. All sound in the world ceases as he turns on his heel to face his mysterious tracker, and in a mere second, the looming figure closes the distance between them and shoves the golden muzzle of an assault rifle towards his face.

"Where'd you get those boots, boy?" a man's voice cracks through the dusty air.

It's a voice Higgs has never heard before, a southern twang that puts his own to shame. It's also tonally neutral—neutral enough to perplex him as to why there's a gun pointed at his face. But something tells him this man isn't  _ really  _ holding him at gunpoint to ask where he goes shoe shopping.

"Your boots, where'd you get 'em?" the man repeats himself, a bit louder this time. "And while we're at it, put your hands up."

Higgs complies with the request in the face of the snub-nosed rifle, raising his hands above his head in surrender. He gets a better look at his tracker now, but it doesn't help much. The man is in a standard freelance porter suit, covered in grey from head-to-toe, apart from the five-inch window above his nose that reveals wild, wrinkled brown eyes.

"What's it to you?" Higgs spits, raising his chin a fraction to look over the barrel of the gun. "Why the  _ fuck _ are you following me?"

The man doesn't reply. Instead, silence hangs for a second too long, and without warning, Higgs feels a fist driving into the pit of his stomach. A sturdy punch from a well-trained arm, knocking the wind out of him and sending him reeling on his knees.

"I asked you politely, so you give me a nice, polite answer, got it?" 

No sound comes from his strained throat, only the sound of desperate breaths. This insolence gains him a knee to the ribs that puts him on his back.

"Listen," the man speaks from above him. "Either you stole the boots before the Demens up and disappeared two years ago, or you're one of the sons of bitches. So, tell me, which is it?"

"I—I stole 'em," Higgs wheezes.

That lie is met with a vicious kick to the ribs. 

"See, that doesn't quite work for me. Questions do have right answers, y'know?"

"I'm not," he manages, voice crackling roughly in his throat. "I'm no Demen. My name's Peter, and I'm just visiting a fr—"

Before he can finish the sentence, the gun's muzzle sweeps upwards and knocks the cap off his head, leaving his tattooed forehead exposed to the air.

"No shit, you ain't a Demen. You're the goddamn Devil."

"What—" his question is interrupted by a coughing fit. "Are you talking about?"

"You're Higgs Fuckin' Monaghan," the man squats beside him, pressing the barrel of the rifle up against his jaw. "Y'see, I was with Fragile Express when everything went down with you. After everything, the boss lady had us memorisin' the exact fuckin' shade of your boys' boots. And  _ each  _ and  _ every  _ curve and dot in that shit you got where a forehead should be."

Higgs goes dead silent, not even bothering to breathe anymore. His mind starts racing, contemplating just how bad this situation is. He'd been careful, as always, but clearly not careful enough. The boots were all he had left from his old uniform, but apparently, they're sufficient enough to identify him as one of  _ them _ . He sucks in a painful breath and starts willing himself to speak.

"Fragile send you?" he croaks before breaking into another coughing fit.

"You get to ask me one question. That what you want to go with?"

Higgs nods.

"Fragile didn't send me," the man answers with nothing in his voice to indicate deception. "I patrol these parts, 'round the old camp, and this lake. I never believed they just walked away from it all. And you're livin', half-breathing proof of that."

Whether or not this is good or bad news would remain to be seen. If Higgs could believe this man's story, he had simply been the victim of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Now, I said you get one question, but you're probably wonderin'," the man continues. "Why the  _ hell  _ would I spend my time doin' that? Well, you remember the whole half a city that used to be here, and the nuke that took it out, don't ya?"

Higgs nods again, acknowledging the question as rhetorical.

"I remember it well. My son died that day. He was a twenty-five-year-old grad student. Whole future ahead of him. Gone in one flash because of  _ you." _

"I'm sorry," Higgs wavers, throat tight with remorse. "But I didn't plan that. I was the leader of jack shit; I had no say in anything."

"I don't buy a word of that. But keep talkin'."

"No point," he mutters. "You won't believe me even if I tell you the truth."

The gun presses down against his jaw, forcing his head to the side.

"I said keep talkin', and that's what you're gonna do."

Telling this man about Extinction Entities or the Last Stranding seems like a surefire way to end up with a bullet between the eyes, but so does lying. There has to be some way around it; telling some inkling of the truth without revealing too much.

"The name Samantha Strand mean anything to you?"

"Yeah. She saved us all from you goddamn terrorists."

Higgs can't resist laughing at that, which earns a buttstroke with the rifle hard enough to break the skin on his cheekbone.

_ So, she's a martyr now. _

"Listen," Higgs groans, the fresh wound burning as he speaks. "I despise terrorists as much as you do. Desecrating corpses, taking out cities, that shit ain't right. But that girl, she's the one who started the very terrorist group you say she saved you from. She needed someone to keep her untouchable while Bridges built the Chiral Network, and that's where the Demens come in. Problem is, you can only keep those soulless lunatics organised for so long without a strong leader."

The man doesn't say anything, nor does he strike again, but his thick brow furrows in perplexion as he waits for more.

"So, she came to me. Said that if I helped her by being her man on the ground, America would be whole again. And it is. Because the source of the fracture is gone—herself."

"But why," the man starts, shaking his head in disbelief. "Why would she go to all that trouble building the network?"

"She needed it to get anything done. To put every populated area in her grasp, for whatever she had planned. And there's only one person who could build it—I'm sure you've heard of him— _ the Great Deliverer.  _ But he never would have done it if not to save her from me. I was a pawn in her game, and he was too."

"A pawn in her game," the man echoes, attempting to verify the phrase. "What was this sick game, exactly?"

"I still don't know. I don't know if she wanted to reunite America all along or if that was a last-minute decision. She wasn't a fan of me asking questions, or speaking at all, really."

"This all sounds like a crock of shit."

"I know it does, but I have no reason to lie to you. You have a gun pointed at me, and it seems you have every intention of shooting me," Higgs shakes his head, the open wound on his cheek burning.

The man goes silent to consider his answer. In that time, it occurs to Higgs that all he would have to do would be to make a sudden movement to get out of this. He could goad his assailant into shooting him and cause a voidout, and he could repatriate. But a fraction of a second later, he throws the idea out the window. There was a time where he wouldn't even give it a second thought; he'd view it as a mere exchange of the man's time for his own, something to serve the greater good. 

But that's changed. A lot has changed.

Higgs never wants to have DOOMs again. For as long as he lives, he doesn't want to see another BT. He hates his uncle for plaguing him with the illness, and he hates Amelie even more for being the source of it.

"I haven't decided what I'm gonna do with you yet. All I've wanted for years is to kill the bastard responsible for my son's death," the man massages his temples with his free hand. "But if I'm to believe the shit you're talkin', that's not possible."

"Correct."

He clearly doesn't buy it; Higgs can see it in his eyes, but at the very least, he's listening. That can buy a little time.

"Then, why South Knot?"

"I don't know."

"Try to remember. I've thrown enough of your boys into the incinerator, and I'm willin' to do it again."

"We needed to knock Fragile Express and the rest of the private couriers down a peg; make Bridges and the network look like the only viable way forward," Higgs appeals to the eyes of scrutiny. "Force the isolationists to strike up a contract, and increase the chiral density in the process."

"And you just  _ let  _ that woman order you around. You couldn't help but surrender to her every beck and call. Now, I find that a touch strange. What power did she possess over you, exactly? Ransom? Blackmail?"

"Nothing like that," he admits, knowing there's no point in lying. "She gave me what I thought I wanted—power. Level seven DOOMs, that's as high as you can go. She made me a God amongst men, and she promised me a swift death at the end of my servitude. But as you can see, that didn't quite happen."

The man lifts his leg, holding it there for an uncomfortably long time like a threat. Then, he sends it crashing down into the left side of Higgs' body, hard enough that he might have done serious damage.

"That it?"

"No, that's not it," Higgs groans, clenching his core in pain. "In the end, all I wanted was to spend time with  _ the Great Deliverer. _ I wanted to build a new world with him, no matter what it looked like—whether it was Heaven or Hell. And for that, I sacrificed everything. My mind, my body, my life. All for him."

It's almost like he's speaking to himself as the depths of his soul come up like vapour from his aching lungs. He's well aware that it's not going to make any difference, but he finds some peace in letting it out, even if there's no shift in expression from the man before him.

"So you did it for love, eh," the man says, his voice still as vacuous as before. "Tell me—and answer truthfully—would you still give your life for him?"

"I would," Higgs answers without skipping a beat. "But I can't."

"You can't? What do you mean you can't?" the barrel of the gun grazes the raw skin on his jaw.

"I'm a repatriate. If you shoot me, the only thing that happens is the voidout kills you, and I come back right as rain."

"Sure ya are," the man breaks into merciless laughter. "If you were a repatriate, you woulda gotten me to shoot you already."

_ Like I didn't think about it. _

This is his final trump card, and it's one he’s tried to avoid, but he has no other choice. Showing his bare skin to a stranger, let alone one that's done nothing but berate him. He doesn't want to hear how disgusting his scarred skin looks or be questioned about its origins. Sam's the only one he's ever told, and he doesn't want that to change. Still, he's grasping at straws trying to think of any alternative.

"If you don't believe me, I've got the kiss of the dead on my right shoulder blade," Higgs speaks carefully. "If you let me get up, I can show you."

"Alright then, show me  _ nothin'  _ so we can get this over with."

The gun departs from his jaw swiftly, allowing him enough room to struggle onto his feet. And with his entire body aching in pain, it takes every ounce of resilience to get there. He slips the timefall-resistant windbreaker off easily, discarding it beside him before apprehensively moving for his compression shirt. Trying to raise the shirt over his torso brings a new level of pain, with his joints locking up and the sting of a bruised rib halting his movement.

"Hurry up," the man grumbles before him.

Higgs jerks his arms upward as hard as he can, gritting his teeth at the thrum of pain that follows. It almost feels like he's a kid again, getting ready to dress his wounds with duct-tape and tissues because Daddy didn't care enough to grace him with bandages. By some miracle, he manages to peel the tight fabric over his head and down his arms. The only thing left to do is turn around and show off the pale stencil.

"Right here," he croaks over his shoulder, barely connecting his index finger with the mark. Keeping it there proves too much, and his arm drops to his side involuntarily.

"I don't see anything but an eyesore. Knew you were just wastin' time."

"C'mon—it's there, look closer—I fucking—I promise."

The man's done a number on Higgs' head, that's for sure. His splitting headache is complimented with a heavy surge of nausea and vertigo, and he loses his balance before hearing any word of verification. He falls over without registering it, and when he blinks black out of his eyes, he can see down the barrel of the gun above him.

"If it was just a fuckin' lie, you can tell me," the man gnashes his teeth.

"No—don't, you don't have to—" Higgs pants out in desperation. "I ain't lying—"

"I told you questions have right answers." 

_ Bang. _

The first sound Higgs hears after the gunshot is the crashing of the sea. His limbs float in front of him, helpless as he sinks to the bottom of the Seam. It can't be his first time when he's already marked by the dead, but he has no recollection of the previous visit. He needs air; that much is becoming apparent. There's no time to think about anything—about how  fucked  he is—he  _ needs _ air. He tries to scream, and all that comes out is a high-pitched noise strangled by water. The water fills his lungs in the process, the pressure building up in his skull abates, and his lungs cease screaming for oxygen. 

_ Huh. _

As he flips over in the waves, he can make out a dark figure in the distance. With nothing else to do, he starts to swim towards it. It doesn't take long for him to realise that it's his own body, frozen still at the bottom of the Seam. He can make out not one but two strands coming out of his chest, reaching for the sky. One of them hangs slack and moves with the water, while the other is taut, as if on the verge of snapping. That seems strange, but he doesn't have the time to consider the implications right now.

He's close enough now to make out the individual fragments of his skull floating in the water. The entire upper left portion of his head is busted wide open. This must be the exact snapshot of the moment he died, but what is he supposed to do with it? He reaches out to touch his own brain from where it's suspended in the water and attempts to push it back in. As soon as the pieces of his brain stuff back into the cranial cavity, his vision goes black.

A second later, he's falling over on dry land. Higgs spends the next few minutes puking up an endless stream of black bile out in front of him. Aching all over and wracked with tremors, his body tries to oust the viscous liquid from his lungs. Everything goes black again when there's nothing left to expel. Higgs lands face down in the middle of his vomit, and he feels his consciousness start to dwindle. The trauma of his first conscious repatriation has left him with no fight.

A random thought occurs to him;  _ what shirt was Sam wearing before I left? _ He has no clue why that feels like the most important thing in the world right now. Maybe, because if he'd known that it could be the last time he ever saw Sam, he would have paid closer attention. Higgs can see Sam's sleeping face clearly, the hair sprawled out across the pillow, and the mark he'd kissed before leaving. Further down, peeking out of the covers was a long, black sleeve.

_ Right. He was wearing my shirt. _

Higgs had slipped it over Sam's half-conscious body during the night because he was shivering, and it was the only shirt in reach from the bed. It always felt so unfair that Sam still had to share those desolate dreams with Amelie. If Higgs could take that from him—take all Sam's pain and bear it himself, he would. That hasn't changed. From the moment Sam laid him out on the edge of extinction, to now, with his face planted in vomit.

Timefall could come, and an inverted rainbow could halo around him, washing his body away until nothing was left. It wouldn't change the fact that Higgs Monaghan had loved and been loved.

* * *

When Higgs comes to, his eyes meet a glaring fluorescent light hanging down from a tall ceiling. He tries willing himself upright to take in more of his surroundings, but a loud clink of metal and a tug on his wrists stop him. Lowering his head, he can see plastic restraints over his wrists attached to the side rail of a hospital gurney. There's no point in trying to fight it, but he gives it a go anyway, twisting under the binds so violently that the gurney nearly topples over. His weakened body sinks back when it can’t withstand any more.

He's not dead, but he's not sure if that's good or bad yet. There's a crushing pain in his chest that gets worse by the second, like his heart is about to give out on him. His eyes flicker down towards the organ— _ like that'll help _ —and all he finds is a blue gown hanging over his frail body. He puts his head back and stares at the ceiling for a long time until the creak of a door interrupts the silence.

"Ah, Mr. Monaghan, you're finally awake," a soft English accent chimes from out of view.

Higgs holds his tongue, partially because pain seizes control of his vocal cords. There's no sound in the world for an uncomfortably long minute before unsteady footsteps start to edge closer. The figure of a man comes up in his peripheral vision, and it takes a minute for him to look it in the eye. When he does, his eyes meet a pair of thin black glasses and short hair. There's no animosity in this man's rather plain face, but Higgs doesn't think trust is yet in order.

"Sorry, you're wondering where you are, I take it?" the bespectacled man hangs for an answer before continuing on his own accord, "South Knot Medical Centre. You were caught up in a voidout north of here, and we don't see many of those these days. Oh—and, my name is Heartman."

Higgs' gaze shifts back to the stark white ceiling. None of what this  _ Heartman  _ has said means anything to him. The pain in his chest starts to swell even stronger, and it doesn't feel like the result of a broken rib. He's had plenty of those before; this is something completely different. It feels like someone's twisting a hot iron rod in his chest, working to rip apart the very fabric of his soul.

"Are you in pain?" the man called Heartman asks, one eyebrow lowered in concern. "I can get you some morphine if you need it."

Higgs nods stiffly instead of speaking. He feels like talking would lead him to tears, and he doesn't want to go there in front of a stranger. Morphine doesn't seem like it'll help, but it can't hurt either. At best, he might catch a high potent enough for him to get back to sleep. He doesn't want to be conscious, not in this state, and not in this place.

A few minutes later, the man returns with a syringe in hand, and he flips back the sheet covering Higgs' legs to reveal an IV taped to the top of his foot. 

"I'll admit, most people aren't too happy about you being here," he says as he flicks the needle to rid it of any air. "But repatriates fascinate me. It's nice to work with one again."

A cold sensation rushes in his foot as the man presses down on the needle. The pain capsizes, and he thinks about Sam at that moment. Higgs can't think of anything else. He feels like he's torn in two; he hasn't been away from Sam this long since the night they started living together. He truly feels like he's missing half of his soul, and that's the sort of ache drugs can't fix.

"Sam," he mutters subconsciously, as if it's a prayer.

Heartman's expression shifts to one of intense perplexion, but Higgs pays no mind and continues to repeat the name under his breath.

"Sam?" Heartman echoes, his intonation strange on the word. "Sam's…dead, Mr. Monaghan." 

Higgs' eyes open wide despite his exhaustion, and he tries to break free from his restraints once more. It's pointless and does more harm than good, but he doesn't know how else to deal with that statement. Sam's not dead—he can't be. The pain in his chest is proof of it; it means that Sam is somewhere feeling the exact same thing.

"I—" Heartman stutters in confusion. "I'm going to get you a sedative."

"You lyin' sack of shit," Higgs spits. "I know he's not dead. I can  _ feel  _ him."

Heartman meets that bizarre declaration with a glance of askance.

"Mr. Monaghan, I mean you no harm," Heartman speaks in a manufactured calm. "I'm only telling you what I know. And what I know is that I've seen his death certificate."

"He _ can't _ die. Even if he could, he wouldn't. We have—"  _ a daughter.  _ That part refuses to come out, and it's a good thing it doesn't.

"I'm sorry," Heartman mumbles as he stumbles back out of Higgs' line of sight.

Higgs gnashes his teeth and starts fighting harder, actively trying to tip the gurney over now that he's alone. His body gives out on him before long, and he slumps back and lets the tears fall. He can't handle losing Sam and Lou, not now. Not after living the peaceful life the three of them had made together. He can't  _ live  _ contained by four walls all over again.

He just can't.

All of this feels like some sort of tragic irony ripped straight from one of Shakespeare's plays. Everything in his life is gone, exited stage left. It'd only be natural for him to get his comeuppance just as soon as he'd settled into being  _ happy.  _ Some cosmic force up above had deemed Higgs unworthy of contentment from birth; that much was made clear when his mother died.

The sedative starts to take effect without him even registering the injection. He grips the side rail tightly with both hands and tries one last desperate bid—jumping. Theoretically, the interaction with his attacker's corpse should have granted him  _ something _ —some small inkling of power. So he shuts his eyes as tight as possible and tries. Because there's nothing else he can do. He pictures every room, all of Lou's toys scattered across the living room, even the food that was in the fridge before he left. But there's nothing. Nothing more than his consciousness starting to fade to darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter might be up sooner than a week, depending on how bad I feel about leaving such a grisly cliffhanger. And I apologise to Higgs for everything I put him through.


	13. How Close Your Soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posted early!

When Higgs regains consciousness, he wishes he hadn't. There's no metric for how much time has passed in the isolation ward when he's spent most of his waking hours crying out for sedatives. The last time he was awake, a team of nurses in red scrubs held him down and shoved a feeding tube into his nostril before they let him go back under. _'Daddy, don't hurt me'_ might've slipped out of him unconsciously as he felt the nurse's hands on his face. He hasn't seen Heartman since the man's first visit either, and he was the only one who responded to him with words. The nurses and doctors only come to take his vitals and change out his IV electrolytes when they run dry.

The DOOMs nightmares return for the first time in years, which means he's regained some semblance of power. It's not enough for him to jump, at least not in such a weakened state. He's resigned himself to laying back in this uncomfortable hospital gurney, crying out for midazolam and dreaming of extinction. The incessant nightmares are better than his reality of being contained within these sterile walls.

There's a massive difference when he wakes this time—the sharp pang in his chest has subsided to only a murmur. He sits upright to the best of his ability and looks down as tears start to form at the corner of his eyes. That acute pain is supposed to be his lifeline, his connection to Sam. Its disappearance is far worse than its presence. 

As he's crying, the door creaks open **,** because of course it would. It's Heartman, Higgs can tell just from the faint flashing light from the AED strapped to the man's chest making itself known in the darkness. 

"Mr. Monaghan, are you awake?" Heartman calls, voice just as timid as before.

Higgs doesn't move or wipe his eyes to look at the man. He throws his head back to stare at the ceiling, awaiting another dose of sedatives or more invasive lab work. But the sound of rushed footsteps thunder through the room, and he finds himself pulled into a smothering hug.

_Sam._

Higgs chokes out a loud sound of desperation as he tries to force himself further into Sam's arms. He's crying harder than he was before, shaking and tugging at his restraints in an attempt to get his hands around Sam. Sam slides one hand into Higgs' hair and holds him close to his face, hushing and whispering _'it's okay'_ again and again. In reality, things are far from okay, but it's hard for Higgs to disbelieve with Sam holding him like this. For this one moment, things _are_ okay.

"I knew something was wrong the second I woke up, I—" Sam stops and stifles a sob in the curve of Higgs' neck. "Fragile came and told me what happened and then jumped me here."

 _"Fragile?"_ Higgs echoes in shock, edging backward a bit to read Sam's face.

"Yes. Fragile," Sam says like it's nothing. "I've spent the past—I don't even fucking know how long—explaining myself to chiralgrams until they let me in here."

"I thought I'd never see you again." 

Higgs can't bring himself to care about Heartman's perplexed expression, and Sam can't either. Sam presses his lips to the symbols on Higgs' forehead, conforming his warm palms to the curve of Higgs' cheeks. From there, they slip down Higgs' neck to his shoulders in an attempt to drag him closer, but the bindings stop him short.

"Can you get these off of him?" Sam turns his head to face Heartman without parting from the embrace.

"I'm afraid I can't," Heartman answers sternly before his expression falters in the face of Sam's tears. "Oh, alright. I think I can get away with one side."

Heartman frees his right wrist and ankle cautiously, flinching at every movement like he's afraid Higgs might start trashing again. Higgs stares daggers at him the entire time he undoes the straps, which only agitates the man's skittish manner. 

"Don't worry," Sam says, taking Higgs' raw wrist in his hand and to massage it. "He's one of the good ones."

"Then why the fuck did he tell me you were dead?" Higgs spits in Heartman's direction.

Sam exhales sharply, stepping back slightly so Higgs can see his face.

"You remember me telling you about Deadman?"

Higgs nods stiffly.

"He's a coroner, so I had him write up a death certificate and attribute the next body CD picked up to myself," Sam swallows and wets his lips. "I've been dead to Bridges, until now."

"That's right," Heartman adds. "It was hard to believe at first, but there was no sign of him for so long that we all just accepted it."

"You're horrible for not telling me that," Higgs mutters with his fingers tugging at the fabric of Sam's jacket.

"Didn't think I'd need to. I'm sorry."

Sam leans down and gives him a kiss of apology. The angle's all wrong, and the nasal tube makes it more awkward, but it almost makes things alright _. Almost._

"Ah, I'll give you two some privacy," Heartman stutters before scuttling out of the room.

"Sam, how is s—how are—" Higgs stops and bites his lip to think of the way to put it in case things aren't truly private. "At home. How are things at home?"

"Deadman's taking care of things. Don't worry."

Sam leans down to look over his body without a word. Something twists inside Higgs when Sam flips his gown open. Sam's seen him in more compromising positions, sure, but he has no control over how he looks right now—his greasy hair ruffled over his forehead, and his body crumpled over, connected to numerous invasive tubes and wires. He's glad the shiny metallic glint of the walls isn't bright enough to catch his reflection.

Sam finds the fresh handprint that marrs Higgs' skin right above his left hip bone, and he fits a warm hand over it for a long, quiet moment. 

"Jesus."

"I didn't kill him. I don't know what they told you, but I didn't kill him," Higgs pleads with urgency. "He was going to shoot me, and I begged him not to, but it didn't matter."

"I know you didn't kill him, but what did he want?"

Higgs shifts slightly and scrapes his teeth over his bottom lip.

"His son was killed when we nuked half of South Knot. He kept asking why, and of course he didn't believe me when I told him the truth. He didn't believe I was a repatriate either."

Sam's hand slides down from the mark and down to his knee, dropping his head to obscure his face with waves of auburn.

"I saw it happen. In my dream, I saw everything. That guy, the crater lake, the gunshot—all of it."

_"What?"_

"Then I was there, above the Seam, and I was trying to pull you out."

Higgs recalls the taut strand hanging from his body in glaring clarity. Sam's story fits over his own like a glove.

"I remember," Higgs gapes. "It was like someone was trying to pull me up, but my body wouldn't budge."

"Your _ka_ and my _ka_ really are connected. That Greek stuff you told me about—I know you were trying to be romantic but," Sam flashes a bittersweet smile. "You were right. You _are_ the other half of my soul."

"What do you think it means?" Higgs lowers his eyes in contemplation.

"If you don't know, I sure as shit don't," Sam shrugs. "We probably won't know until it's time to pass on."

"Don't talk about that, Sam. Not now."

"Right. Sorry."

Sam climbs into the gurney with him. It's a tight fit, but Higgs makes it work by sliding over the other's lap.

"We're fucked, aren't we?" Higgs almost laughs, if only to stop himself from crying. "I'm fucked, at least. It doesn't matter what the truth is; I'm the poster boy for terrorism to the UCA."

"Things will be okay," Sam says with determination, but his voice still shakes with uncertainty.

Sam drapes a tired arm over Higgs' shoulder, using him to correct his wobbly balance. His cheek is warm and still wet against Higgs' own, and his beard itches, but that's a sensation Higgs has grown fond of.

"Still," Higgs forces all the air from his lungs. _"Fragile."_

"What about her?"

"Why would she try to help me?" he scoffs.

"Well, if I'm being honest," Sam sighs. "She's probably trying to help me more than you."

That makes sense. It makes more sense than the faint hope that she might see something worth saving in him. It'll be a cold day in hell if Fragile even comes close to forgiving him.

"What happens now?" 

"The president is coming over with Fragile as soon as he can," Sam exhales with his hands half-covering his face.

"And then what?"

"I dunno."

"You _always_ know," Higgs whimpers in a small, tinny voice.

Sam drops his hands and rests his head on his shoulder, lacing their fingers together to soften the blow.

"I don't this time. But whatever it is, let me do the talking."

Higgs can't think of anything more to say. It might be better to say nothing at all, just savour Sam's warmth in its entirety while he's still here. If anything, to at least give Sam a bit of shuteye before they face the great unknown.

* * *

A nurse covered head-to-toe in red barges in to interrupt their makeshift tranquility not long after. Behind him is what looks like a security detail—two men in black waiting just inside the door.

Sam sighs softly like wisps of wind on saltwater as Higgs elbows him awake, as if he'd forgotten how dire the situation was in his sleep. It doesn't take him long to remember, though. He quickly scrambles out of the gurney to give the nurse room, and when the two men at the door give him a nod of respect, all he does is look back in confusion. Sam's still not one for the praise of being a _hero,_ it seems.

The nurse stays eerily quiet as he drops the clothes Higgs must've arrived in at the foot of the gurney. He doesn't say anything when he reaches for Higgs' face either, which causes him to jerk his hand out for Sam's. The NG tube is flushed with a syringe full of water before the nurse starts inching it out of his nose. Higgs' grip on Sam's hand tightens as he watches the nauseating length of it come up, and he doesn't even want to think about how it had been down to his stomach moments prior. A rough cloth scrubs away any remnants of gastric acid before the nurse leaves without a word.

"Get him dressed, and then we'll go," the taller of the two men calls before stepping out behind the nurse.

Higgs hobbles onto his bare feet, the cold vinyl flooring striking his soles. The bottoms slip on easily, but the shirt is a contest his hands aren't up for. Sam shakes it out for him and gets it over his head, Higgs mumbling out an appreciative sound in response. Higgs' socks are there, but his boots aren't. _No wonder._

"Sam, before we go," Higgs says as he grasps Sam's hand. "No matter what happens, you've given me a good life. I didn't know shit about what it meant to live 'til I met you. You're the first person to show me love, and I probably don't deserve it. Hell—I know I don't, but you let me in regardless. You let me love you, and that's all I could ask for."

"I love you too, but stop talking like you're never gonna see me again," Sam squeezes his hand back. "'Cause you're not going anywhere. Okay?"

"You don't know that."

"We're gonna go home, and we'll sleep in the same bed like always. I won't let you be locked away again."

Higgs wants to believe that, and he tries. He really does, but it doesn't take long for the stench of reality to waft through the air.

"Sam…" he says in a low whisper. "Saying things doesn't just make them true."

"I'm not taking no for an answer. That's what's gonna happen," 

Sam slips Higgs' arm over his shoulder, holding him by the waist to help him towards the door. After a few days on his back and nothing but liquid nutrition, Higgs' legs won't cooperate with him. They breach the doorway with some struggle, and the two men from before are waiting for them just outside. Without saying anything, they signal down the fluorescent-lit hallway for Sam and Higgs to follow.

They're led down a series of twists that appear to lead to nowhere. Every hallway looks the same as the one before it—empty, sterile, and quiet. Higgs would venture that they're deep underground, tucked away from everyone and everything else. It appears to be true when they reach their destination, a chilly concrete garage. There's only one truck parked in the expanse of the lot, painted a stealthy black with tinted windows.

"This is just a precaution," the shorter of the two men says, reaching into his back pocket to pull out a pair of steel handcuffs.

Higgs purses his lips and holds his wrists out in compliance. The cool metal clicks over each wrist tightly before the man shoves him into the back seat. Sam follows on his own accord, and the vehicle acquires a heady silence once the four of them are inside. To Higgs' surprise, they don't take the elevator but travel through a dimly lit underground tunnel instead. Higgs can't tell how much time passes, but eventually, they come to a second garage nearly identical to the first one.

"We're here," the taller man says as he presses the button to turn off the ignition.

Sam helps Higgs out of the truck, holding his waist for support. They exit the garage into another long hallway, but there's one glaring difference in this one; the Bridges logo emblazoned on the white flooring. The hallways are lined with dark and deserted glass offices until they come to the brightly lit room marked J-23. Behind the glass is Fragile, sitting beside Die-Hardman, bereft of his mask. Higgs swallows thickly before they enter the door.

Die-Hardman clasps his fingers on top of the table and looks up at where Sam stands before him. His face is a lot more amiable than the dark mask Higgs had seen him in before.

"It's good to see you again, Sam," he says with a professional smile only a politician could produce.

"Wish I could say the same."

Die-Hardman's eyebrow perks up slightly, but he continues without addressing Sam's comment. Instead, he motions politely for the two of them to sit down. Sam seats himself with a grunt of annoyance, and Higgs follows, scooting himself sideways so he can be a little closer to Sam.

"I know we left things on less than amicable terms. You're still angry, I get it," Die-Hardman says with the same smile as before.

"Angry doesn't even start to scrape the surface," Sam mutters. "But I'll be civil."

"Tell me, where's the civility in harboring a terrorist for almost a year without telling anyone?"

"He wasn't a terrorist until you and Amelie made him one," Sam gnashes his teeth.

"So, this is about revenge, then?"

Sam leans back and folds his arms tight over his chest, staring at Die-Hardman through bits of grey-brown fringe.

"No, it's not about revenge, or Bridges, or the UCA. It's not even about me. It's about protecting someone I love, and out of everyone at this table, wouldn't you know what that's like?"

Higgs clearly isn't privy to the information that makes Sam's words sting, but it shakes the room with even more unease. The vitriol in Sam's voice is scathing, and it sends Die-Hardman somewhere dark, Higgs can see that in his eyes. It even sends Sam reeling back slightly, and he grabs Higgs' hand firmly below the table.

These definitely seem like waters best left untread, even if they do get out of here.

"You've been telling me over chiralgram that he's changed. I came in person to verify that," Die-Hardman says once he's regained his composure. "And sure, he's not as…talkative as before, but how can you be sure?"

"Because I see the guilt in his eyes every single day. It was there the first time I saw him after everything," Sam shakes his head. "And it still is. He's saddled by guilt for things he had no fucking say in."

"Look, Sam. I don't know what he told you," Die-Hardman throws a suspicious glance towards Higgs. "But it didn't take much convincing to get him on board."

That much is true, Higgs has to give him that. Amelie had turned him from a man focused on the lives of his community into a terrorist hellbent on extinction over the course of a month. All it took was handing over the BB doll and telling him it was for the best. That the death of everything was the only surefire way to ease humanity's suffering. The doctrine of futility and extinction had already been beaten into him as a child, and when an omnipotent being confirmed his worst fears, he could no longer see the point in running.

Maybe, if he was a stronger man, he would have refused.

"He thought Amelie was mankind's saviour. Of course he went along with it," Sam raises his voice slightly. "Anyone would have. I sure as hell would've if she asked me."

Die-Hardman's posture shifts with discomfort and something else—perhaps guilt. But it fades just as soon as it appears, replaced by something cool and calculated.

"Well, we're able to verify your claim that Higgs didn't shoot. That man was someone we ran into trouble with before," Die-Hardman stops and clears his throat. "He was a vigilante who took it upon himself to clear up MULE and terrorist camps. When we located his shelter yesterday, it was stockpiled with stolen guns and ammo."

"We don't own a single firearm, and I don't even let him handle more than a kitchen knife," Sam attests firmly.

"I'm with you on this, Sam. No need to be defensive," Die-Hardman turns to Fragile, and Higgs eyes her tight leather-covered fists atop the table. "And what do you make of all this, Fragile?"

"You're going to think I've gone mad," Fragile sighs, splaying her hands out over the table. "Higgs is… he's a fixed cat without Amelie, without DOOMs. Sam's right. He has changed."

"Changed how, exactly?" Die-Hardman asks beyond firmly clasped hands.

Fragile shifts in her seat and nervously straightens out her jacket.

"Well, I went to visit while he was in the isolation ward."

Higgs' stomach drops at that revelation. He certainly hadn't noticed her, though he'd been entirely out of it for his stay there. 

"Saw him lying there, screaming something about his father," Fragile speaks apprehensively. "And I knew that he'd become even more subdued than when I first met him."

 _That_ is something Higgs would rather not have aired out in front of a stranger. His throat stings with shame, and there's a part of him that wants to beg her to stop before she says more, but what she's saying seems to be working. Die-Hardman's facade starts to melt around the edges, beginning with the wrinkle of his brow in contemplation. 

"That doesn't mean I forgive him," Fragile clears her tight throat. "Or that I'm okay with him setting foot in our Knot Cities for as long as he lives. I don't want him in our backyard, so leaving him with Sam is our best bet."

Higgs can hardly believe what he's hearing, and with the way Sam's eyes blink in quick succession, it seems he can't either. Die-Hardman is the most surprised out of all of them, with his back firmly pressed against the headrest of his swivel chair, and his forehead wrinkled in shock. Fragile has the golden opportunity to throw Higgs to the wolves, but for one reason or another, she hasn't taken it. Just like she couldn't bring herself to shoot him on the Beach.

"So, if I go along with Fragile's wishes, and yours as well," Die-Hardman starts slowly and carefully. "Then we can send him on his way, but there's one caveat. He's going to have to wear a pair of cufflinks at all times. That way, we know where he is, and if he _does_ cross the sensors of any Knot City, we'll know."

"Is that necessary? I mean…" Sam trails off and scratches at the hair on his chin.

"If he's changed, you have nothing to hide," Die-Hardman says with the slight squint of his eyes. "Right?"

"Well, yeah, but—"

"Then take the deal. Because it's the only one you're going to get."

Sam huffs curses of protest under his breath that only Higgs can hear, before he drops his shoulders and looks back up at Die-Hardman's face in surrender.

"Alright."

"Great. We should have the cuffs in by delivery bot within the next few hours," Die-Hardman says in a voice full of false pleasantries. "For now, why don't you take a seat outside and rest, Sam? You look tired."

Sam makes a small noise in the back of his throat before helping Higgs up from the chair, holding his waist to hoist him up. 

"Oh, one more thing," Die-Hardman calls from behind them. "Don't be a stranger. If you ever want to work again, the door's always open."

"I'm retired indefinitely. I'm living off surplus and favours, and that's more than enough."

"Suit yourself."

Sam leaves silently with Higgs pressed firmly against his side. Higgs has regained his bearings enough that he could walk on his own if he wanted, but having Sam lug him around is more satisfying. It shows that he cares and that he couldn't give a damn what anyone thinks about it.

* * *

Rest doesn't come easy, not when they're being watched by the two security guards from before in an otherwise empty lobby. Higgs acquiesces to the quiet and the uncomfortable tug of the steel around his wrists. Sam, on the other hand, bobs his leg as he waits expectantly for something to happen.

The package comes in after what feels like forever, and Higgs has the steel handcuffs switched out for the new bane of his existence. Clunky metallic cufflinks that don't quite fit and flash an irritating shade of red. The two men explain the ins and outs of them to Sam, and the only thing that catches Higgs' ears is that the cufflinks are fitted with a GPS feature and nothing else. That's a welcome wave of relief.

With the cufflinks online and working as planned, they're allowed to leave. The guards give Sam the directions to get to the main floor before heading their separate ways. What a great response to terror Bridges has.

They're at the end of one of many absurdly long corridors when fast footsteps come barrelling towards them. Higgs turns his head quickly in the fear that Die-Hardman might've changed his mind and decided to apprehend him after all. His throat constricts, and his eyes fly open as they meet Fragile's slightly flushed face instead.

"Wait!" Fragile calls out. "Let me take you home. I think I know the way."

"It's alright. I'm sure we can borrow a reverse trike," Sam waves her off.

"Sam, I saw the circles under your eyes. You're going to end up face-first into a wall before you even get out of the city."

Sam shuts his mouth and staggers back towards her. He motions for Higgs to join them, and he _really_ doesn't want to. Keeping his distance from Fragile seems like the tried and true strategy as far as he's concerned, but it's not like he has a choice. If they're going to jump, he needs to be close enough for her to hover a hand over his shoulder. 

He drags his feet reluctantly towards them, half-expecting Fragile to turn up her nose and leave as soon as he makes it over. Instead, she promptly unfolds her umbrella between the three of them and knocks her forehead against Sam's. Her hand reaches out cautiously for Higgs' shoulder, leaving ample room between them. Higgs shuts his eyes as well and waits for the sound of the jump. And if a tear escapes his eye before they disappear, he hopes it gets lost in the journey.

Higgs' knees buckle as he opens his eyes to find himself inside the archway of their shelter. He keeps his hands on his thighs for balance, catching his breath in gasps. Sam is in a similar state, bracing himself against the terminal for support. The only one unphased is Fragile, but a splatter of blood falls onto the metal flooring below them.

"Ugh," Fragile sniffs. "Few too many jumps today."

"Thank you for everything," Sam nods in her direction.

"Thanks," Higgs shakes the word out of his throat and looks up to meet Fragile's eyes for the first time in years.

There's no verbal response, no _'welcome,'_ only a faint blink of acknowledgment before she turns to Sam.

"I've switched you over from Peter Englert to Sam Bridges. That should cover your tracks somewhat, but be careful."

"Okay," Sam agrees with a long sigh.

"I'm only doing all this for the little one," Fragile frowns sternly. "And because I know it doesn't matter. You love him. I can't do anything about that."

"You're right. You can't."

"But there's no ill will between us," she asserts, thrusting her gloved hand out for a handshake. "When I said that leaving him with you is our best bet, I meant it."

"Got it."

Sam shakes her hand firmly, and Fragile snakes her hand up behind his back to pull him into a hug. Sam's slow to hug back, but when he does, it's with a warm smile.

"Stay safe, Sam."

Fragile strides out of the shelter's arch and dusts off her jacket before folding her umbrella out. With the flare of the spikes on her shoulders and the blink of an eye, she's gone.

Just behind them, the door to the shelter opens with a sudden click.

"Sam!" a rough, accented voice calls out. "You beautiful son of a bitch! It worked out, huh?"

Higgs turns around sharply, but before he can quite process what's happening, an older heavyset man cups Sam's cheeks and kisses him. When the man lets go, it's with a wet _mwah_ sound that makes Higgs' skin crawl.

"Daddy!" Lou exclaims from below, laughing gently as Sam scoops her up into his arms.

As the four of them descend the steep metal stairs, Lou recounts the last three days cheerily. The sleepover went exceedingly well, and the past couple of days with Deadman had been 'lots and lots of fun.' What happened beyond that is entirely unknown to her, and it should probably stay that way.

"You want uncle Deadman to read you a bedtime story?" Sam asks as he bobs her up and down in his arms.

"Yeah!" Lou agrees excitedly, reaching out for the heavier man.

"Alright then, let's go," Deadman chuckles as he takes Lou. "We can finish the book from last night, huh?"

Higgs stumbles into the kitchen to scavenge for solid food to eat, with Sam following close behind. Two pieces of bread scarfed down in under a minute is what does the trick, while Sam settles on cold rice that's probably been in the fridge for over a week.

Across from the kitchen, the old green cot set up in the living room catches his eye. That must be where Deadman's been sleeping—on _his_ cot. He tries to get his mind off the kiss again—not like it matters because it shouldn't. It's been a long day, and both of them are on the verge of collapse. Yet, in the bathroom, he ends up brushing his teeth until his gums start to bleed.

Sam's obviously starting to catch on when he rejects help in getting into his pajamas. Higgs throws them on hastily by himself before sitting at the foot of the bed with his arms crossed. Sam lifts the covers for Higgs in an attempt to coax him into bed, and Higgs acts like he's not even there. 

"What's with you? Can we go to sleep?" Sam asks around a yawn.

"He _kissed_ you."

"Really?" Sam scoffs in disbelief. "It's not like that. We're just friends."

"He kissed you, _and_ he's sleeping on my cot," Higgs whines petulantly.

"I'm not fighting with you about this, not when there's more important shit to talk about."

"Yeah? Like what?"

"Like how you have DOOMs again," Sam grumbles. "Because you do, don't you?"

Higgs could burst out crying, and he knows it's not long until he does. The faux anger he's using to shut Sam out slides off of his face, and his mouth starts twitching in its wake. It's easier to complain about something trivial than confront how terrified he is. DOOMs is what set him off into the deep, and regaining it after finally shaking free from its clutches scares the shit out of him. Acting standoffish doesn't matter as much as he needs Sam right now, so he folds and shoves himself into his arms.

"I'm scared, Sam," Higgs sniffs into the crook of his neck.

"It'll fade, right?" Sam whispers reassuringly.

"Could take a year, maybe less," Higgs murmurs. "But it's gonna be real bad for a while."

"Well, you got me. No matter how bad it gets."

Sam dips to capture Higgs' mouth under his own. A dam bursts and Higgs only starts crying harder, clinging to Sam like he's drowning. Every emotion floods through him at once, and he can't even tell where the tears are coming from anymore. Sam holds him firmly through all of it, leaving soft kisses along his lips and his cheek, and that's all he needs. The kiss ends when the cufflinks catch Sam's hair and manage to yank out a lock of hair.

"Ow," Sam laughs a bit, reaching for the back of his head.

"Things are fuckin' annoyin'," Higgs says, so exhausted he's slurring.

"Yeah, I know. Spent my fair share of time with them," Sam reaches over to open the unlocked loop before clicking it over his own wrist. "How's that?"

"Better," Higgs mumbles. "Lot better."

Sam brushes stray strands of hair behind Higgs' ear and beams a smile that unmistakably harbours residual anxiety, but Higgs isn't going to say anything. He just smiles back with a similar sentiment and tries not to think about the myriad of things that could go wrong. He decides to focus only on the feeling of Sam's fingers laced with his own and the lazy circles Sam draws over the back of his hand. It's not long until Higgs' fatigue overtakes his fear of the coming nightmares, and buried in Sam's arms, he falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing Die-Hardman slightly unsympathetic tears me apart, but I mean, his relationship with Sam is pretty much left shattered by the end of the game, so I couldn't imagine them having a good rapport. I love every character from the game, except three of them. Which I wonder who those are…
> 
> P.S., Fragile isn’t going to forgive Higgs here. Just can’t see it happening, and I don’t wanna mislead. The ‘friendship’ tag won’t ever be added, lol.


	14. Life Goes On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Been too much hurt and not enough comfort lately, let's give them something of a break, hm?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been too much hurt and not enough comfort lately, let's give them something of a break, huh?

Normalcy has returned. Or it almost has, because it's always bludgeoned by the endless red flash of Higgs' cufflinks. He's become so fixated on it that he can tell when it's coming—every ten breaths, and it taunts him. But at the very least, he's not confined to a concrete box again.

These days Higgs can't bring himself to doubt Sam's touch or his words, not after what happened at South Knot. Now that he knows what it's like to have such a precious thing slip through his hands, he never wants to take it for granted again.

So, when Sam feels the need to hand him his coffee with the third 'love you' of the day, Higgs doesn't even begin to fight it in the back of his mind.

"Love you too," Higgs smiles before slipping into a yawn.

"Didn't sleep much, huh?"

"Nope," Higgs takes a small, careful sip. "But we've got stuff to do today, ain't that right, Lou?"

"Uh-huh," Lou mumbles around a mouthful of oatmeal.

"Oh yeah?" Sam raises a brow. "And you didn't tell me?"

"Came up with it before tucking her in last night. We're gonna do some science experiments." 

"Experiments," Lou echoes, fumbling slightly on the pronunciation.

"What sort of 'experiments'?" Sam asks.

"I read about 'em in here," Higgs drums his fingers over the scuffed cover of a book titled  _ 101 Activities for Kids  _ set to the side of the table _.  _ He flashes a self-satisfied smirk before remembering to ask, "We've got food colouring, right? Gonna need a lot of that."

"Think so," Sam answers. "You're not gonna make a god-awful mess, though, right?"

"No promises," Higgs hums into his mug.

Right after lunch, Higgs starts setting everything up for their kitchenside science projects. He makes a mental list of everything he needs before ransacking the cupboard; food colouring, baking soda, vinegar, and soap. Sam watches Higgs spread all of it out onto the kitchen island, knitting his brows like he's imagining the mess he's going to clean up later. 

"I'm ready for ya," he calls over to the other two at the table.

Lou tosses her crayons onto the table and joins Higgs at the sink on the island. She tries—and fails—to pull herself up over the counter with her hands because she can't wait for Sam to pull a chair up behind her to stand on. Higgs dumps a hefty amount of baking soda and soap into the bottle, only eyeballing the portions because it's  _ probably  _ fine.

"This," Higgs taps the rim of the bottle, "is an explosive."

Sam rolls his eyes at the off-colour joke, while Lou leans over the counter and innocently asks, "What?"

"You'll see. What colour do you want it to be?" Higgs asks, holding out the three bottles. Lou pinches over the top of each one before settling firmly on red. "Excellent choice," Higgs smiles.

Three drops of red are added to the mixture, and then it's time for the final touch. Higgs hands the vinegar over to Sam and lets him do the honours. It's a slower, less explosive reaction than Higgs anticipated, but Lou doesn't seem to mind. She just reaches in to feel the bubbles form under her thumb and forefinger.

Higgs finds himself captivated by the swell of pink foam, eyes bulging as he leans over the kitchen sink to get a closer look. It's not like it's  _ real  _ science, like particle physics. These are party tricks he's using to impress Lou and keep her busy. But there's a childish fascination knotted up in his stomach, like nostalgia for a time and a feeling that never existed. The real thing is there on Lou's rosy-cheeked face, and he hopes this is something she'll remember later on in life.

The chemical reaction has already fizzled out and dripped down into the drain, but Higgs keeps staring, lost in the strange feeling reflected there. Sam gives him an inadvertent reality check by running the tap to flush out any dye, and Higgs snaps back up, wearing the simper he's pretty sure he should have on. Lou is oblivious, smiling back, while Sam squints like he's making a mental note to ask what that was about later. 

From there, they move onto something called 'magic milk.' Higgs brings the other two back over to the table, where he sets out a plate full of milk along with dish soap. He hands Lou the bottles of food colouring and lets her drop it in herself however she pleases. She keeps going until it almost looks like there's more dye than milk, and then waits for what comes next. Higgs squeezes out one small glob of soap in the middle and smirks, reveling in the rainbow fanning out below them.

_ "Wow!"  _ she gawks, watching the miraculous swirl of colour continue to fan out.

Higgs points out pockets of colour in the pattern, teaching her new words that she can't quite get her mouth around, like  _ chartreuse _ and  _ magenta. _ She nudges at him to repeat it—more milk and a fresh plate, until they've exhausted seven of them in a row. Her interest is starting to wear thin by the eighth, now that the novelty has worn off. 

"Say we mix it all together," Higgs reaches desperately for her attention. "What colour do you think we'll get, hm?"

"I dunno," she shrugs.

_ "Well,  _ take a guess."

"No," Lou mutters with frustration starting to edge into her voice. "Don't wanna."

Higgs drops his index finger in despite her impartiality and swirls it around until he's left with 

"See, when you mix red, yellow, and blue together, you get black," Higgs says, words falling on completely uninterested ears.

"I'm bored," Lou huffs into her forearm.

"S'alright, we're finished," Higgs assures her. "You wanna watch a movie instead?"

"No. I wanna go outside," she whines, dropping her arms out over the table with a  _ thwack. _

Higgs' jaw twitches with nerves. He's been working with Sam to try to keep her entertained enough that it wouldn't come to this. It was only a matter of time anyhow—you can take the girl out of adventure, but you can't take adventure out of the girl. Higgs tries to think of an answer, but it stymies his throat.

"We can't," Sam answers for him.

Lou looks to Higgs for back-up like she'd done before, and all he can do is drop his eyes and shake his head solemnly. The girl puffs her cheeks out in answer, standing up in her chair before sweeping her arms over the table and sending multicoloured dye flying in every direction. Higgs blinks in shock, turning his head to look at Sam and then down at Lou as the tantrum flares. She sits down on her heels, starting to cry and scream and hiccup all at once. At some point, she stops only to catch her breath, uttering three small words.

"I hate you," she sobs before sliding off the chair and storming off into the hallway.

It's not like these fits are unusual. They occur at least twice a week, but those words are saved only for the worst of them. The kitchen acquires an awkward silence with her departure, and Higgs uses it to help Sam clean everything up. Lou needs time to cool down and cry herself tired until she becomes somewhat amenable. In the meantime, they can scrub out her mess before it starts to stain the wood flooring.

"Let me talk to her. Good cop, bad cop, right?" Higgs says, wringing a towel out into the sink.

Sam nods hesitantly, clearly not enjoying his assigned role. He leaves first, followed by Higgs before they part ways in the hallway.

Lou's tucked into her bed, face pressed into the head of a stuffed white rabbit. She's not crying anywhere as violently as before, just sniffling and hiccuping in the corner of the bed. Higgs knows what that's like, so he's glad to step in and try to offer the comfort he never had at that age.

"What's wrong?" Higgs asks as he breaches her doorway.

"I wanna go outside," Lou sniffs into the fluffy white polyester.

"We can't go outside 'cause of me. I did something bad."

"You did bad again?" she asks innocently, blinking her big blue eyes up at him.

Higgs sits at the foot of the bed and exhales into tented fingers.  _ Again.  _ He can only imagine that she's retained a memory of something he'd done during her days in the pod. Sending catchers after Sam, or shooting him, maybe even— _ God,  _ he hopes she doesn't remember what he'd done to her pod.

"Yeah, and I got in trouble," he answers nervously, scratching at the back of his neck. "So we can't go outside for a bit. Don't hate your Daddy for it, ain't his fault."

"I don't hate Daddy," the girl pouts.

"Then, why did you say you hate him?"

"Um, I dunno."

"Well, saying stuff like that makes your Daddy sad," he explains in a soft voice.

"Daddy's sad?" her voice breaks, and something in Higgs breaks too.

"Just a little, kiddo," Higgs reassures her with a pat on the back. "But it's okay. All we have to do to make him happy again is give him a hug."

Lou makes a face like a lightbulb has gone off in her head, and she wastes no time in tossing her blankets to the side and bolting for the door. With her tail between her legs, she stumbles into the living room ahead of Higgs, determined to make things right again. She's already thrown her arms around Sam's neck, using his legs to bolster herself upwards.

"Sorry, Daddy," she whimpers loudly with her face buried in Sam's shirt. "I dun' hate you."

Sam pats her quivering shoulders and hugs her back.

"It's okay. I still love you."

"Let me get in on this." Higgs hooks his arms around Sam's neck, bringing the three of them close together with Lou sandwiched in between. She stops sniffling and lets out a bubbly giggle that makes something in Higgs' heart swell and hug tighter.

After he pulls away, Lou slides down Sam's torso and into his lap, leaving tracks of snot and tears as she goes. Her head dangles off his knee, and she starts yawning with her head hung upside down. It's a proper fit of yawns that denote how drained she is from her own tantrum.

"You need a nap?" Sam asks after another yawn.

"Yes," Lou agrees without putting up a fight, for once. Sam picks her up, and her tired arms cling to his neck while Higgs stands by and watches her little face disappear into the hallway.

Higgs sits in the spot left behind Sam and shudders like he's cold. His expression slips into something more dour. Things aren't as bad as they could be, but they've changed in a way that was unavoidable.  _ For a bit _ is a lie he doesn't feel good about because for all he knows, this could be forever. There could be no more picnics outside, or visits to the Junk Dealer's for the foreseeable future. And that's all his fault. His very presence in her life has been a liability.

For better or worse, Sam loves him. Higgs accepts that truth like any other; water is wet, fire is hot, and Sam Bridges loves Higgs Monaghan. It's not something he can deny, but there are times when he wonders if he'll ever truly be deserving of that love.

Bare feet on hardwood creep up behind Higgs, and he's not entirely ready for it, but it's happening. Sam stretches and seats himself beside Higgs before dropping an arm over his sunken neck.

"Whatever you said worked," Sam leans over to catch the abject misery in Higgs' face. "What's up?"

"I fuck everything I touch up," Higgs sighs into his hands. "All I do is take things away. I can't give you shit, Sam."

"You kidding? You've given me everything I've ever wanted. A family, a home—you taught me how to touch, how to feel," Sam murmurs, rubbing at the nape of Higgs' neck. "Things I thought I was too damaged for."

Higgs looks at him for a while without saying anything at all. He purses his lips, tries to fight the quiver of his chin when Sam crinkles his eyes like he's wounded. He's not going to fight the other man on that; there's no ground to stand on.

"But Lou won't be able to see those girls anymore, 'cause of me," Higgs lolls his head back onto the headrest.

"We'll find a way to make things work," Sam tries to coax him. "So stop catastrophizing."

Higgs drags his hands down his cheeks slowly, sliding his lips out into a self-deprecating wince of a smile.

"That's all I'm good at. You know that—you know  _ me." _

"I know the man Lou says she wants to be like when she grows up." 

Higgs throws Sam a look of bewilderment. Somehow, praise from a feisty three-year-old strikes him harder than anything anyone's said to him before. Kids don't hold back what they think; Lou especially doesn't. She takes after Sam in that respect. How he's gone from  _ bad  _ to this is beyond him _ —shit— _ it was probably the guitar.

"Do you—" Higgs swallows and tries again, "Do you think I can live up to that?"

"You've done it so far, haven't you?"

Sam takes the throw blanket from the armrest and drapes it over Higgs' shoulders, Higgs humming a sound of thanks. Higgs can't resist the urge to drop his head into the seductive cushion provided by Sam's thighs, and Sam lets him, ghosting his knuckles over Higgs' cheek. He hasn't slept well ever since the nightmares started up again, which lends itself to the exasperated tear nudging at the corner of his eye.

"Can I tell you what I think?" Higgs asks, waiting for Sam's nod before continuing. "Think I'm trying to make up for lost time. A lot of things were taken from me when I was her age, and I wanna make sure she has them."

"Well, you're doing one hell of a job," Sam slides his lips out into a smile. "I never would've come up with the stuff you did today."

Higgs can feel his sour mood start to wane with every brush of Sam's fingers through his hair. It's not like it fixes everything; he's well aware of how uncertain their lives are right now. Sam's thinking about it, and Higgs is too, somewhere far off in the back of his mind.

"We can order pizza for dinner if you want," Sam murmurs as an aside from what's on his mind.

"Ah, a man after my own heart," Higgs sighs dreamily. "But I'd rather you cook. Anything you want. I don't care, long as you make it." 

"'Cause it tastes better when it's made with love?" Sam says, totally deadpan. Like he has no idea how cliché that is.

"That's fuckin' horrible," Higgs snorts a laugh. "Really."

"But you're smiling."

"Laughing more than smiling."

"Oh, shut up."

Sam exhales a sound that's all playful annoyance and warmth. Sleep doesn't come easy these days, but Higgs sort of feels like he could give it a go until Lou wakes up. At least to rest his bloodshot eyes for as long as Sam will have him there.

* * *

Sex is an excellent way to dispel a little bit of nervous energy and stave off sleep. That's something Higgs has always known, but Sam only just figured out. The once a week rule has been thrown out the window entirely. Because when Higgs needs Sam, he needs him  _ now,  _ and he needs him as close as he can possibly be. It's a good thing they still have responsibilities to tend to. Otherwise, they would be all over each other all the time like teenagers.

They're already learning things they hadn't previously known about their bodies, like how Higgs can recover fast enough to come once in between Sam's period of refraction. In that time, Sam takes him in his hand or his mouth and guides him to the precipice. And when Sam tells him to come, he does, because he can't do it any other way.

Higgs lays his head down over Sam's bare thigh in the downtime, while Sam reads from a worn leather-bound copy of Shakespeare's sonnets. He doesn't put much into his performance, as he reads the passages out in a dry monotone, but Higgs is still struck deeply by it. Sam's speaking to him in _his_ language, the written word. He only pauses to ask him what the archaic words mean, to which Higgs spits out the definition swiftly.

Just as Sam asks Higgs what  _ 'proud-pied' _ means, he opens his eyes again and makes out that Sam is very much ready to go again.

"Does it even matter now?" he drawls lazily, reaching up to close the book and set it down beside them.

"Guess not."

Higgs reaches out for Sam's stomach, dragging his knuckles down Sam's scar to the crevice between Sam's thighs. The hair there is damp like dew-laden grass as Higgs wraps his hand over Sam's half-hard cock. He holds it there, hot in his hand, rising to straddle Sam where he's pressed against the headboard. It slides in easily enough, aided by the remnants of Sam's load from earlier. Higgs lowers his hips slowly until he bottoms out and groans into the space between them. Warm, rough hands slide up his thighs and to his ass, prying him apart so he can take more.

"Gimme a kiss," Higgs breathes against Sam's mouth as he wraps his arms around his neck.

Sam crashes into Higgs' lips, dragging one hand up to the back of his neck to hold him in place. Higgs lets him take the lead, to put all the months of practice to work. His tongue flicks over the patch of stubble right below Higgs' bottom lip before sliding in to lick at the points of his canines. It all melts like sugar onto Higgs' tongue, feeding the adrenaline in his core to keep his hips moving.

The kiss stutters, falters, and stops altogether where Sam starts fucking into him in tandem. It's frenetic at first, but Sam manages to ease up and match their previous pace. Higgs throws his head back, and Sam's nose nudges back and forth against the exposed skin, nipping kisses down to the base of his throat. Sam's fingers feel their way down the tease of hair on Higgs' stomach, and that's how he knows Sam is close. Higgs is right there behind him, angling his hips so he can rock into Sam's hand.

"Are you gonna come?" Sam sighs deeply against his ear. "Go ahead."

In shuddered ghosts of breath Higgs is calling his name in answer;  _ Sam, Samuel, Sammy.  _ A broken moan catches in his throat, and Higgs goes quiet altogether to listen to the wet drag of skin as Sam strokes him to completion. He feels like he's bursting apart, and Sam's the only thing keeping him together. Sam holds him close as they catch their breath in the wake of the shared orgasm. Higgs nuzzles up against his cheek, undoubtedly rubbing remnants of kohl there, but Sam doesn't seem to care. He just rubs his hand over the valley of Higgs' spine and lets out a long exhale.

If only they could feel blissed out like this all the time, where the only thing to worry about is getting up to look for tissues. Not having to think about Bridges, lone gunmen, or DOOMs. Higgs wishes he didn't have to move, that they could just stay here, skin pressed against skin. But Sam knows they have to, so he helps Higgs dismount and rolls to the side of the bed for the tissue box.

"I feel like you're trying to wring me dry these days," Sam mumbles as he wads up tissue in his hand.

Higgs sets himself up on his elbows and cocks his brow inquisitively, watching Sam wipe up the smattering of come over his stomach. 

"You not up for it? Is your hip going to give out, old man?"

"I'm up for it. I'm not  _ that  _ old," Sam grumbles, furrowing his brow. "It's just that you were firm on once a week before, now we're at it two or three times a day."

Sam reaches down between Higgs' legs to clean him up, eliciting a startled yelp in the back of his throat. Then he's laughing a little, holding himself up on shaky limbs as he tries to bat Sam away.

"It just…gets me out of my head for a little while," Higgs admits as he lays back down and once again notices the blink of red on his wrist.

Higgs eyes the wall blankly, recalling a past of anonymous affairs with preppers. They all got him out of his head in their own right, mostly by inflicting him with a sensation potent enough to distract him from the buzz of his mind. In the end, all it managed to do was make him feel worse. With Sam, it's completely different. He's still not entirely used to being treated like an equal in the bedroom, unconsciously half-expecting Sam not to come back to cuddle.

But after dropping the tissues into the garbage, Sam does return, bringing the covers down with him to create a soft shelter of sheets.

* * *

The sound of waves lapping at the shore grazes Higgs' ears, seconded by the uncomfortable grit of sand beneath his back. He's aware that he's dreaming, but he's still put off to be on the Beach again. There haven't been any nocturnal visits to his Beach since Amelie drowned him in its waves. The sky above looks unfamiliar; it's bright blue with a slight overcast. It's nothing at all like his own Beach, where the skies were always grey and full of heavy grey clouds.

Someone's beside him; he can feel it. The small brush of warmth radiates on his skin. He's instinctively afraid that it's going to be Amelie here to seduce him into carrying more nukes for her now that he's got a power she can use. His lips part, and try to verbalise something snarky, but nothing comes. It's as if his voice is stuck somewhere deep in his throat. The shifting of sand speaks for him, and then he feels a shaky hand grip his own.

Higgs could recognise that touch anywhere, even on a strange Beach in a dream. He turns his stiff neck to the best of his ability, and though the skin is wrinkled and the ink is worn, he can make out the tattooed skull in his palm. Above Sam's hand is the rolled-up sleeve of an Oxford shirt tucked into brown corduroy pants. Higgs can't find the strength in him to get a better vantage point to look at Sam's obscured face, but he can make out wisps of long silver hair. His own aged fingers curl over top of Sam's hand, and his head falls back in the sand.

"We had a good run," Sam says from beside him in a thin voice.

Higgs jerks awake with sweaty hair plastered to his face. He heaves a breath and blinks sleep out of his eyes until he can see the flash of red between Sam's wrist and his own. Back on earth, then. Sam rustles the covers beside Higgs, and the reality of the present sinks in. They're not on the Beach, they're alive, and it's here and now. 

"Bad dream?" Sam asks with a yawn.

"No. Normal—well, close as I can get to normal," Higgs stammers. "But that's not the point."

"What is?"

"I dreamt I was lying next to you, almost like before, when we were on my Beach. I couldn't see your face, but you were wearing some hideous corduroy pants," he twists his face in disgust. "And we were a lot older. Elderly, I reckon."

Sam pauses and swallows thickly in contemplation.

"So you and I were dead, then. Stranded on the same Beach."

"Weird, huh?" Higgs huffs a shaky laugh.

"Nah, that's about how I expect things to end."

"What—you think it's prophetic?" Higgs scoffs incredulously.

"Lots of dreams are when you have DOOMs."

"Isn't it only nightmares?"

"I've had good dreams that came true before," Sam shrugs. I dreamt that you gave me a blowjob once, and it happened the next day."

"That's called a  _ wet dream, _ Sam," Higgs teases, digging the point of his finger into Sam's chest. "Plus, I do that all the time, 'course it'd come true."

"C'mon, just entertain it for a minute. What if that's how things end? Isn't that a nice way to go out?"

There isn't a thing in the world Higgs could want more, but he doesn't quite possess the same forward-thinking Sam does. He's too used to trying to anticipate the next time life will throw a wrench at him. And right on time, red flashes between their wrists to punctuate his thoughts.

"Yeah," Higgs mumbles half-heartedly. "It would be."

"Lou'll be all grown up. Maybe she'll be an artist or something. I swear her drawings get better every day," Sam smiles, running his thumb over his bottom lip. "And we would've given her a good life."

Higgs falls silent, stopping to imagine what Lou might be like in fifteen year's time. He hopes she's more well-adjusted than himself at that age and that he can help Sam impart her with the upbringing neither of them had for themselves. The image of a mop of curly dirty blonde sitting in front of a sketchbook is what resonates, and he finds himself twitching an uncertain smile.

"You could teach her math, and English…and history," Sam continues to muse to fill the quiet.

"You're putting a hell of a lot on my plate there," Higgs laughs as he's drawn out of his fantasy. He puts his head back down on Sam's chest, and the other man reaches up to cup his cheek.

"It's not my fault when you're so damn smart."

"I actually taught myself everything I know. Reading, writing, all of it. Wasn't shit else to do, but there were plenty of pre-Stranding books laying around my uncle's shelter."

"Guess that explains why you're able to rattle off the definition of any word I throw at you."

"Pretty much," Higgs hums vauntingly. "Funny thing is, I don't think they belonged to him. He always used to hide 'em if I misbehaved, but I'd find the hiding spot every time. Even if the fucker beat me for it."

Sam looks at him like he's mortified, and Higgs drops his gaze in confusion. Getting lost in literature might be the only good memory of his youth because it gave him a small escape from beatings and threats. But to anyone else, it sounds just as horrific as the rest of it.

"Ruined the moment, didn't I?" he chuckles and scratches at the back of his neck.

"Nah, you didn't ruin anything."

Sam reaches over for the digital clock on the nightstand, and Higgs groans when he sees it's already half-past six. The two of them have only slept around five hours, but Lou will be barreling through the door soon enough that there's no point in trying to fall back asleep. Higgs rests his sleepy head over Sam's shoulder, feeling like he could use fifteen more minutes or five hours of shuteye.

"You know I love you, right?" Sam whispers over the crown of Higgs' head.

"Yeah, I know," Higgs grins sheepishly with his eyes closed. "I know, and I love you too."

Lou barges in as expected with her rabbit in hand. She's not crying this time; instead, she's smiling from ear to ear. Her hands knot up the duvet and pull it out from above the two of them, and Higgs just thanks the stars above that they put their clothes back on before going to sleep.

"Hey, mornin' to you too," Higgs laughs and reaches out to ruffle her hair with his free hand.

Sam unshackles himself, clicking the unlocked loop of the tracking device over Higgs' wrist. It turns out Lou's insistence isn't just excitement for the new day, but her way of asking to be fed. She demands pancakes, and Sam does his best to deliver in his tired stupor while Higgs keeps her busy at the kitchen table with an assortment of art supplies. And because going outside isn't an option, Higgs teaches her how to draw a vast blue sky.


	15. Lay Your Head Down

"Shit—fuck," Sam curses as he struggles with the unlocked loop of Higgs' cufflinks.

"What the hell's goin' on?" Higgs rubs the heel of his palm into his eyes, trying to make Sam out in the darkness. "Sam?"

Sam doesn't answer once he's free; he just dashes for the hallway without even stopping to put pants on. Higgs does, however, because the night air is harsh and frigid on his legs. The light pouring in from the end of the hallway tells him where to go, and his legs take him there reflexively. Sam's loud heaving is what gets him through the door quicker.

"Christ," Higgs scrambles for Sam where he's knelt over the rim of the toilet. He knots up Sam's long hair in his hands to keep it out of the steady stream of vomit. "This is—Jesus, how is there that much puke in you?"

Sam finishes, eventually, shoving off to the side and holding his stomach with one hand.

"The fuck did you eat that I didn't? 'Cause I'm fine."

"There was a tomato in the back of the fridge yesterday. Might've gone bad."

"What, you just ate a tomato by itself?"

"Yeah?" Sam says like he has no idea how strange that sounds.

Higgs raises a stubbled brow and pictures Sam biting into a tomato like an apple, resisting the urge to chuckle because he's supposed to be a mature adult. Sam's all sweaty and pale on the bathroom tile, his eyes red-rimmed and weepy from vomiting.

"You look like shit," Higgs puts it bluntly.

"Thanks."

Higgs draws a blank on what he should do here. He never cared enough to take care of himself when he was sick. He always opted to take enough tranquilizers to knock out a small horse and try consciousness again after waking up a couple of days later. It's misguided, but it sets him off in the direction of the medicine cabinet behind the mirror. Children's cold medicine and acetaminophen are all he finds, so he pops out a double dose of each and drops them into Sam's palm.

Sam swallows the handful of pills dry. Higgs supposes that shouldn't surprise him much, not coming from a man who lived off insects and energy drinks for a year.

"Can you brush my teeth?" Sam asks between coughs.

"Wait, you want  _ me _ to brush  _ your  _ teeth?" Higgs echoes for confirmation.

"Dunno if I trust myself to stand for that long right now."

Higgs snags Sam's toothbrush from the sink's ledge, applies a generous amount of toothpaste, and douses it with water. He squats down between Sam's legs, cupping the other man's jaw open to get the toothbrush inside. The bristles nudge at the back molars, and Sam makes a little startled noise that would probably turn Higgs on in any other context. But, there's nothing particularly sexy about brushing away stomach acid and bits of tomato.

If anything, it's awkward to do this to another person. There's no way to tell if he's putting too much elbow grease into it, but if he is, Sam doesn't protest. He just keeps himself pliable, tilts his head back when Higgs moves to the top teeth. When they're finished, Sam looks a bit like a rabid dog with mint foam dripping down his jowls. Higgs straightens his legs out to rinse off the brush while Sam leans over the toilet seat to spit over the vomit.

"Lovely," Higgs teases as he reaches over to flush the toilet.

Higgs extends a hand to help Sam up, and the other refuses—trying to keep up a tough front. It ends in Sam slipping as his legs give out from under him, and he's back to gripping the rim of the toilet seat.  _ Fucking idiot,  _ Higgs thinks to himself with a wary smile.

"C'mon, take my goddamn hand," he says, a command rather than a suggestion.

Sam purses his lips and concedes, using Higgs' body as his crutch as they hobble over to the bedroom. Sam practically crashes into bed, groaning something horrible as he goes. Higgs is about to turn away and try to figure out just what the  _ hell _ he should do from here, but Sam's hand seizes his and pulls.

"Wait."

"I'll only be two shakes."

Higgs sways Sam's hand twice and watches it come free.

When Higgs had fallen ill at the old shelter, Sam slipped a bowl under his cot in case he needed to throw up again. He hadn't—thank God—throwing up at Sam's feet was embarrassing enough at the time. It seems like a good idea in this case where the illness is the result of food poisoning rather than a nocturnal visit from an Extinction Entity. He grabs a cold cloth too, just like Sam had done for him.

Sam doesn't look any better once he returns. If anything, he looks worse now that Higgs' eyes have adjusted to the dark. There's a sheen of sweat over the other man's forehead and flushed cheeks, so Higgs drops the bowl and tries to wipe it away with the cloth that's wet anyway— _ fuck.  _ He's terrible at this.

"I gotta make breakfast," Sam mumbles, trying to use Higgs body as leverage to stand up.

"Sam, you're fuckin' delirious," Higgs shimmies free. "I got this. Just rest."

It's nowhere near breakfast time anyway; it's only quarter to four. Higgs doesn't think he can fall back asleep, between worrying about Sam's health and having another nightmare. Sam's content to just cling to Higgs' waist in a fevered daze, likely mere minutes away from conking out again. Higgs settles against the headboard and closes his eyes, but sleep will not come.

* * *

Taking care of Lou by himself seems daunting, even if he's spent countless hours reading about toddler care. He's also gotten better at talking to her after a lifetime of avoiding children altogether. Still, there are times when Higgs can't quite think of what to say, and Sam's always been there to fill in the blanks. She'll lead him into an endless series of 'whys' until he's utterly stumped. And that's where Sam steps in and manages to piece together the perfect answer to end the cycle of interrogation.

Lou's particularly agreeable today, and maybe that's some subconscious act of consideration. She lets him know what she wants to eat for breakfast and lunch without dawdling and clears her plate entirely. The time in between is spent showing her how to draw, tackling all sorts of shapes and figures with the points of their crayons. Sam only stops in once in a while for a slice of bread or a glass of water before going back to rest after Higgs nags him hard enough.

"Hey!" Higgs drops a crayon to snap at Sam where he's gripping the counter for dear life. "Back to bed."

"What are you, my nurse?" Sam mutters as he sways on his heels.

"You want me to come over there and make you?" Higgs glowers from the table.

"Maybe."

Higgs drags the chair out nice and slow, putting emphasis on the scrape of it as it moves. Lou watches, head turning back and forth between the two of them as Higgs saunters over while looking Sam dead in the eye from up above.

"C'mon, get." Higgs scolds through a playful smirk. "You still look like hell."

There's a reluctant grunt before Sam does as he’s told, heading for the door on unsteady legs. Higgs takes the chance to smack him lightly on the ass while he's obscured by the kitchen island. Sam stops at first, glancing back with an errant brow before he takes off even faster.

Their little girl is sticking her tongue out in concentration and putting Higgs' lessons to work now that he's reading another parenting book. His eyes only flick over here and there because she rushes to cover it up if she catches him, telling him it's supposed to be a surprise. It's hard to tell what it is when the drawing is upside down, and all he gets is a quick peek. It looks like either people or a couple of animals, and she's already started the meticulous process of colouring it all in.

"Me and you and Daddy," she says bashfully as she slides the paper over.

"Wow!" Higgs stops to whistle and chuckle in admiration. "It looks just like us, kid. Mighty fine work here. That's going right on the fridge for sure."

"Can I stop drawing?" Lou asks quietly.

Higgs nods stiffly, watching her slide off the chair in his periphery. His eyes are still on the paper below him, transfixed on the three shapes made of crayon depicted there. She's put a lot of work and love into it, even making a point to draw Higgs' scribbly body taller than Sam's. Lou is in between them, blobbed hands connected to the adults on either side. The most important detail is that they're all smiling, smiles so wide they run off of the circular faces.

He isn't quite sure what to do when Lou starts pulling out all the tupperware from the cabinets to rearrange them. There's some method to her madness, at least. She's grouping them by colour, rather than size or shape, sticking her tongue out in intense concentration. Higgs can't put together why she's taken to this rather than playing with the fancy toys Sam's stocked her with. It seems innocuous enough, so he turns the page of his book and keeps reading.

The sound of something metallic hits the floor, then again and again in quick succession until it's too loud to parse what's happening. Higgs throws himself towards the sound quickly, chucking his book away in the process.

"What was that?" Sam's voice thunders from next door.

"Just, uh, dropped somethin'," Higgs stammers loudly. "I got it!"

There are forks scattered all over the ground, save for a few fisted in Lou's tiny hands. He takes those away first, gently, setting them back into the drawer.

"Hey, what're you doing?" he whispers as he squats down beside her.

"Playing," she shrugs.

"Playing with forks? Why?"

"It's fun."

He doesn't know how to feel about scolding her, even if that's something this calls for. It's something he leaves to Sam, and that's why Higgs is the one she goes to when she's up to no good.

"Tell you what, if you stop, I'll give you some chocolate," he says with false enthusiasm. "How's that?"

Lou gives him a look of contemplation before raising her hands in surrender.  _ Bingo. _

"Okay."

Higgs retrieves the bag of chocolate chips, palming a handful of them to drop off into Lou's outstretched hands. It sort of feels like a dirty transaction. Bribing her into good behaviour can't be responsible, but it seems a hell of a lot better than yelling. Higgs doesn't think he'll ever be able to bring himself to do that. Emulating his uncle—even a fraction—is something he never wants to do with her. It's easier to wipe melted chocolate from her mouth and hands.

* * *

Lou doesn't really finish dinner, but that might be Higgs' fault between the chocolate and a charred pizza he left in the oven for too long. She hasn't taken a nap today either, which may as well be Higgs' fault too. He's five or six coffees in now, even if it's already half-past six, and the caffeine jitters are starting to creep up. He just needs to hold it together for a couple more hours, and then he'll be free to lay in bed wide awake.

"I want a pillow fort," Lou announces from behind the mug.

"Hm, what is that?"

"A pillow fort."

_ Real helpful,  _ Higgs thinks as he slides his laptop over towards himself. He plugs those two words into the search engine and takes another sip of coffee. After seeing an image or two, he gets it. Set up two chairs next to the sofa, fill in the gaps with pillows, and drape a blanket on top of it all. She'd probably heard about them in some bedtime story read to her by Sam.

Higgs makes a big show of just how many pillows he can take in one trip to the living room with a spare duvet hanging off his shoulders. Lou follows closely behind, carrying one of her own that's practically the same size as herself. She goes ahead and seats herself on the rug below the coffee table as soon as Higgs drapes the duvet over the chairs, but that's fine. Higgs didn't expect her to do grunt work.

Once he's made the walls nice and stable, all that's left is to crawl inside. He sets his laptop out on the coffee table first, then prays that his towering shoulders won't take everything out from over them. It's snug, but it works, save for the loud crack of his knees that leaves him feeling his age—whatever that is. He has to tuck his knees into his chest to fit, holding them in tight with his forearm.

"Movie?" Higgs asks, flipping the screen of his laptop open.

"Mmhm," Lou hums in agreement.

He chooses one at random, now that he's set the kid's movies aside in their own folder away from the action and sci-fi flicks Sam likes.  _ Miffy the Movie  _ with a brightly coloured thumbnail—that seems good enough. She's captivated immediately as a small animated rabbit, quite like her own stuffed animal, makes its way on screen.

"What's that?" Lou asks at some point, index finger pointing at a keloid scar on his exposed wrist.

Higgs feels like he's been hit by a ton of bricks. She's already seen it, and there's no doing away with that. Her string of questions will come whether he's ready or not.

"It's, uh," Higgs grits his teeth, searching for an appropriate answer. "I was sick…and I got hurt. But I'm better now."

"Does it hurt?" she asks, digging her finger a little further into the raised skin.

"No, it doesn't hurt."

Her brows cross in concentration, and without saying more, she leans half over into his lap and presses her tiny lips to the mark.

"Daddy says kisses make it better," she stops and softly kisses another. "But this' too many…"

"That's okay." Higgs moves her hand away to stop her from seeing where it gets worse—the scars that aren't self-inflicted. "I feel better already, thanks."

Lou's all smiles as she turns her attention back to the screen, leaving Higgs in a state of bewilderment. He's no longer interested in what the rabbits are doing. He probably couldn't feign attention if he tried. 

At some point or another, she's going to see his torso. It's statistically likely with how often he can't be bothered to put a shirt on because Sam's body is like a live heater. Plus, Lou's new inclination to tear the covers away to get Sam and himself out of bed poses a significant threat. And when it happens, she might be scared of what she sees.

Broken skin for a broken man—battle scars from a long fight he never stood a chance in. He was too small and too scared to retaliate for at least a decade. And even when he stood up to put an end to it all, Higgs found himself adding marks of his own. He hasn't had the urge in a long time, and one of the biggest reasons is sitting beside him in this pillow fort.

Before the movie's finished, Higgs feels the weight of Lou's head start to slide down his arm. She's fast asleep a generous hour before her bedtime, but there's no point in waking her up now. He picks the girl up as slowly and gently as he can, pressing her up against his chest to navigate his way out of pillows and blankets.

* * *

Sam's laid in bed by the time Higgs tucks Lou in and sorts himself out for an early sleep. He's not sure if Sam's asleep or not but figures it's not worth chancing it if he isn't. He strips down to his underwear, expecting Sam's fever to throw off more heat than usual.

In the low light, it does look like Sam's eyes are closed, so Higgs does his best to keep the shifting of the sheets quiet as he crawls into bed. He turns to face Sam, and reverently take in his side profile—details like the small bump in the bridge of his nose and the two birthmarks that align like a semicolon above his top lip. All it really does is leave him with longing.

Higgs is tired, but it'd be easier to sleep if Sam's arms were coiled around his chest, making him feel smaller and safer than he really is.

"Hey," murmurs Sam, voice low and rough with sleep in the darkness before he opens his eyes. Higgs sucks in a breath like he's been caught misbehaving. "Haven't seen you much today."

Sam drapes an arm over Higgs' ribcage like he's heard the other’s thoughts from seconds earlier, and something between a relieved sigh and a moan leaves his lips. It must have been interpreted as the latter, because Sam lifts himself up on his elbow and starts coming in to close the gap between them.

_ "Hey.  _ You spent the whole day throwing up. I ain't kissing you," Higgs sputters.

Sam inches closer, trying to allure Higgs with the tilt of his head that would give him ample room to indulge.

"Really?"

"Yeah, really," Higgs shoots over to leave a teasing kiss on Sam's cheek. "Maybe you can give me a peck after brushing your teeth."

Sam groans and falls back to his side of the bed in resignation. 

"I don't feel like getting up. I feel a lot better, though."

"What'd you do all day? Other than sleep and eat bread?"

"I tried reading to pass the time," Sam gestures toward the copy of  _ Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? _ at the foot of the bed. "But I didn't get it, and you weren't here to explain."

"There's a movie based off of that, actually," Higgs remarks. "We can watch it once you're better. Should be more straightforward."

"Alright," Sam agrees readily without realising he's agreed to two hours of slow film noir. "How was Lou today?"

"Just fine," Higgs pauses before careening his head. "Well—she asked me about these," he says, tracing over the textured lines on his wrist. "I didn't really know what to say. Just told her I was sick before."

"That's a good answer. Probably about what I'd say."

"Yeah…" Higgs ruminates, flicking his eyes to the side. "But one day, she's gonna see more, and I'm worried that I'll absolutely repulse her."

"She's never been put off by my stencils," Sam shrugs one shoulder.

"That’s a little different," Higgs sighs and lets his head hit the pillow again. "I was afraid even  _ you _ would be disgusted by what I look like. Ain't a pretty thing to look at, I know."

Sam's whole face crinkles beside him, and Higgs prepares himself for the chiding to come. 

"Your scars don't bother me at all. And I like the way you look, everything about it," Sam's pupils softly trace every faulty line in his face. "I don't ever get tired of looking at you."

Not as harsh as expected, maybe because Sam's tired. Higgs knows he'll never get out of talking poorly about himself unscathed, but he doesn't know how to respond either. It's getting hard to keep up the self-doubt as Sam leans over on his arm and looks down with clear adoration in his eyes.

"Can I kiss you?" Sam tries again.

"Still no."

Higgs watches Sam start to edge further into his space, and suddenly he doesn't really care if Sam's sick anymore. Sam's at least courteous enough to listen to the petty no kissing rule, choosing instead to hook his chin over Higgs' trapezius and lean solid weight into him. Slender fingers find Sam's waist and take hold to bring them closer. Sam's breath is warm against his neck, contrasted by the rough scrape of facial hair.

This is bad. Higgs could get into this, rutting up against Sam's thigh where it brushes between his legs. Sam should be resting, that's paramount, but going the whole day without touching has driven him stir-crazy. He's just about to ease into it—use the friction Sam's offering—when the other man starts hacking into the curve of his neck.

"Shit, get offa me if you're gonna puke," Higgs groans and shoves a palm upwards.

"I'm not gonna puke. Throat's just sore," Sam protests, but Higgs' hand on his chest holds firm.

Defeated, Sam flops back over on his pillow and exhales through pursed lips like he's deflating. Higgs offers his hand in concession, just as quick to give in as he is to affront. He'd probably surrender to desire on any other day because he's far more licentious than Sam is, but there's a buffer in his way. And it's not just about the puking, either.

"I covered for Lou earlier," Higgs says without really knowing why. "When you heard the clatter in the kitchen."

"I figured. You don't like scolding her."

"Well, yeah—because,"  _ shit _ —his voice is catching in his throat, but he pushes it out. "I never,  _ ever, _ wanna be like my old man."

"You're nothing like that asshole," Sam assures him. "I didn't mean to bring that up."

"S'fine," Higgs mumbles, wiping away wetness at the corner of his eye.

Higgs knows he's been caught when Sam's pupils divert to the moisture on his knuckle. Sam's sick, and Higgs knows he should be taking care of him rather than the other way round. Still, he feels weighty in a way he doesn't quite know how to articulate. The flash of red light from his wrist comes up in the corner of his eye, and it reminds him about everything that's happened, and what could happen. It's something like that, a vague but uneasy feeling.

"You okay?" Sam asks, just above a whisper.

"Just tired," Higgs yawns, rubs at the other eye. "Running the house is hard. Haven't got a fucking clue how you do it."

"'Cause you're there to help." Sam spreads his lips into a simper. "I was a mess before you came back. Running on about three hours of sleep, changing diapers, and bottle-feeding. It was a real shitshow."

"I'm glad I could make it in time for the temper tantrums." Higgs smiles back sheepish and tries to put himself into a lighthearted back-and-forth. But Sam isn't quite buying it, with the way he strokes over the tendons in Higgs' hand. 

"Do you want tea? Chamomile—it's supposed to be calming." 

"No, stay here," Higgs orders. "I can do it."

The pride Higgs feels in himself for managing to do something as simple as boil water is immense. Most days, he'd lay back, catatonic and shaken by some scrape of a memory from decades ago. He feels like he's getting better, probably the best he's ever been. Sometimes it feels like two steps forward and one step back, but at least he's moving.

Two generous pours of hot water and a couple teabags later, and Higgs carefully makes his way back to the bedroom. Some of it splashes over his fingers on the way, but he does his best to force a smile once Sam's in view.

"Thanks," Sam nods in gratitude. 

"No problem," Higgs shrugs, trying his best to act blasé.

Sam takes Higgs' mug while he slips into the warmth of the duvet, and they sit in silence for a while, waiting for the tea to steep. Higgs hasn't the energy to fill the dead air with words, so he settles for leaning his head over Sam's shoulder instead. The heat on his hands and the earthy floral scent of the tea are enough. 

"It's good, huh?" Sam asks after a small sip.

"Mm, yeah," Higgs hums lightly in agreement. "It was kinda nice takin' care of you today, even if I'm dead tired. Good to give back, I think."

Sam fits the curve of his elbow around Higgs' neck and hangs back to look at him, smiling in a self-satisfied way.

"Aren't you a sweetheart, nursing me back to health?"

_ "Sweetheart?" _ Higgs chuckles softly. "Well, that's a new one." 

"Don't like it?"

"No, it's…nice."

_ Nice  _ is a pretty large understatement when Higgs finds himself grinning so hard his cheeks hurt. On that note, he leans over and captures Sam's mouth under his own because he can't resist the temptation any longer. Whether or not Sam's got puke breath, he doesn't really care and never did to begin with. Sam's face is an easy smile as they part, murmuring, "I thought you'd come around."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PS...the Blade Runner reference is kinda tongue in cheek. Kojima joked that he had set DS to release in Nov 2019 because that’s when Blade Runner is set.


	16. Try Not To Save Me

It's Thursday evening, and that usually doesn't mean much in a world that has no day-night cycle. For Higgs, it marks a rounded two weeks until another meeting with Die-Hardman. More details to follow— _Jesus,_ it's like Bridges is trying to cause a stress-induced heart attack. At least the summons letter was formatted well and delivered with care on cardstock.

Higgs feels calm about it—except for when he doesn't—and at least that's something. If the meeting was something dire, like a change in their current arrangement, there'd be no wait. That's what Sam says, and Higgs finds himself inclined to believe it. Sam's spent enough time dealing with the inner workings of Bridges' bureaucracy to know how things work.

Most days go by without a hitch, keeping close to the rigid schedule they've laid out for Lou. Higgs gives the facsimile of a preschool lesson in the morning, and after her post-lunch nap, they get into arts and crafts. From there, it's dinner and independent play until bedtime. The familiarity allows Higgs to coast by on a few hours of sleep, but it's not without occasional needling from Sam when his head hangs down.

Tonight's dinner is good; rice pilaf with chicken and the few vegetables Lou tolerates. Higgs wonders how he hasn't put on weight after all this time. He can't recall ever eating three square meals a day before Sam started forcing him to. He helps himself to seconds, and then thirds by the time Lou's finished her first plate. Once Higgs can't stomach another spoonful, it's time to clean up with music blaring in the background.

The Pixies' _Here Comes Your Man_ fades into the new wave stylings of Blondie's _Atomic._ Higgs keeps a watchful eye on the screen between dishes and the Velvet Underground's _I'm Sticking With You_ comes on next _._ To the tune of the piano, Sam takes both of Lou's hands and moves her arms around in some pastiche of ballroom dance. She twirls around the kitchen floor in time with him, throwing her curls back and smiling so wide her eyes shut. As the thrum of guitar fades out with the final refrain, Sam takes Lou up in his arms and dips her down.

 _"Bravo,"_ Higgs calls over from the sink. He puts down the plate to give a hearty round of applause. 

The first few seconds of the next song are enough to tell Higgs he needs to change it. He's pretty sure Nine Inch Nails doesn't mix with three-year-olds. He goes to tap skip, and he doesn't mean to see it, but he does—a notification at the top of the screen that alerts him of an email from Fragile. The subject line reads _"Ciao!"_ with a smiley face pasted beside it. The reflex of his finger seems cut off from his mind, and the email comes up despite himself. 

His stomach drops, and his blood runs cold before he even starts reading.

_Sam, I'm all set to leave for the Great North tomorrow. Die-Hardman even gifted me a brand new freighter for the trip. We'll finally see what those signals getting picked up by Bridges' satellite dishes are and if there truly is life outside of the UCA's landlock. If there is, I'll be able to add a new Strand myself. Just like you and I did in the old days, right?_

_Wish me luck. I might need it._

His eyes retrace the lines of text, and it hurts more when he reads it in her voice. Wounds that have just barely scabbed over come open and start to bleed deep inside. The girl's gone and put herself in the jaws of death again. It's another altruistic stint that's probably more about getting back at him than anything else, just like her first time doing business with Bridges.

The nerves in Higgs' body go tense like a guitar string ready to snap. There's no way he can let that happen in front of both Sam and Lou. A minute, maybe two—that's how long he needs to keep it together. Just enough to make it out the door and down the hallway.

"Y'know what," he calls over his shoulder, careful to keep his voice even. "Dinner made me work up a sweat. Gonna take a shower."

As he's leaving, he realises he never did change the song. The harsh industrial noise plays on as fitting exit music.

Flashes of light intrude his mind the whole walk over, memories of a time that almost was. Fragile calling him up excitedly with grandiose ideas to increase efficiency. Fragile sharing entertaining details about a mutual client. The small glances she got past his mask at the man full of self-hatred and a dark past. And how he'd reject her every poke at his outer shell with a dry joke. All things now dead and buried.

Tight clothes are shed in a hurry, and Higgs can hear the seam of his shirt tear somewhere along the way. The shower is small, like the hole he wishes he could bury himself in. He slinks down the wall, hugging his knees as he just starts bawling. It feels like there's blood caked all over him with no way to get clean. The water only makes him think of scummy tendrils of tar that serve to sully his skin even further.

It's been a while since he's felt this haunted by his long trail of regrets. Its blood-splattered path always leads him back to that fucking piss-stinking bunker from his childhood. Sometimes he wonders if he ever had a chance, if it's nature or nurture that set him on the path of destruction. Either way, he'd been fucked from the jump.

 _You're just weak,_ spits the grisly voice in his head. A pliant husk to be moulded into whatever the force above him needs; punching bag, porter, executor, terrorist, _pawn._ As long as it gave him purpose and something to cling to other than the roaring abyss of emptiness, he'd do it with a smile. With Amelie, it'd been easy—why worry about the consequences of his actions if the end was coming? He'd played his role as her vessel and carried the nukes just as gleefully as he used to transport food and medicine.

Dealing with Fragile Express was a question of when, not if, for both Amelie and Higgs. It was clear as day that Fragile was the biggest threat standing between humanity and their final Stranding. They could use Higgs' connection to her for a time, but she'd have to be put out of commission as soon as the resources ran dry. And after laughing maniacally as he flicked the match to set the woman aflame, the only question on his _saviour's_ lips was, _'why didn't you kill her?'_

An Extinction Entity craves death, not destruction, after all.

He looks up into the stream of water, lets it hit his eyes and _sting._ He imagines it's Fragile, her fist once again driving into his eye socket that was already primed and shattered by Sam.

"I'm so _fuckin’_ sorry," he shrieks the words he hadn't the decency nor the spine to say on the Beach. Praying the bathroom fan and the water are enough to drown it out.

"I don't forgive you," says the spectre of Fragile, because he knows that's not possible even in fantasy.

 _"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry,"_ he sobs until the words turn into dry heaves, and he feels like there are no tears left to shed.

* * *

There's a hand on Higgs' shoulder at some point, and he follows his first instinct to blench—get himself as far away from it as possible. His eyes seal shut, and he moves his forearms to cover his face to block any blows. If he moved fast enough, he's got a few seconds before anything happens, even if he can't run in this position.

"Hey, hey. It's Sam," a soft voice comes in place of the tempestuous one Higgs was expecting. 

_Right,_ he's not a kid anymore. He's safe here; there's no man twice his size to fill his mouth with blood or dislocate limbs from their sockets.

The water shuts off, and Higgs realises he's shivering and every muscle in his body feels shot. Sam's too much to look at right now, but when Higgs catches his own reflection and sees his lips gone blue, it's worse. His head lolls back, and Sam's hand is there to hold him up. Keep him together.

"I broke the doorframe getting in here," Sam whispers, dead quiet. "You wouldn't answer."

Higgs doesn't know what to say. Not after he just tried to run away minutes prior in some sort of unconscious panic. His head falls into Sam's lap, hands limp and shaky on the wet tile.

"'M sorry," Higgs whispers under his breath. "I'm sorry," he repeats louder for good measure.

"Don't worry about it," Sam reassures him with the stroke of his thumb along his spine.

There's a sob lodged somewhere, but it only comes out as a sniffle and a sigh. Higgs' eyes are dry; he feels like he couldn't cry more tears if he tried. Sam's hand on his back makes him wish he could. It feels like it's there to coax them out.

"I looked," comes in the place of tears. "At the email—I looked at it."

A worried groan reverberates above his head. Higgs' fingers take hold of Sam's baggy sweatpants, and he feels the urge to apologize again—and again.

"Let's get you up," Sam whispers with hands hooked under Higgs' arms.

Getting up is horrible, Higgs felt better naked and cold on the ground with his face buried in Sam's lap. Now he's trembling and knee-knocking, leaning into Sam a little more than necessary merely for his own comfort. Sam sets Higgs up on the toilet, getting down on bended knee to feed shaky limbs through his black lounge pants. The compression shirt stays on the floor, a fight for another day.

The door frame _is_ cracked and partially hanging out of place. Sam cares about him that much, to do something like that. That should be some sort of comfort. Instead, it's a tight knot of dread in Higgs' stomach the whole way down the hall with Sam helping him forward.

The sheets are warm on Higgs' back as Sam lays him down, and it just feels like another dose of kindness he doesn't deserve. He feels filthy, like the hour or so spent under running water has done nothing to get him clean. Sam spreads himself out on the other side of the bed, and Higgs wishes he could curl up so small he couldn't be seen.

"What's going on with you?"

Higgs clenches his jaw shut and focuses on a small patch of light on the ceiling. Sam's trying to talk him off the ledge again. Bring him down kicking and screaming if he has to, offering a soft landing at the end of it all. That's what this is—another thing he doesn't deserve.

"Don't do this," Sam groans a good minute later.

"Do what?" Higgs blurts out a little too quickly.

"Shut me out. It fucking hurts." 

"If Fragile dies, it's my fault," he says stiffly, eyes still fixed on the ceiling. "She probably couldn't refuse that assignment, right? She's _still_ trying to prove that she's not the same woman who got fucked over by Higgs Monaghan."

"I can tell you for a fact that she's not trying to prove shit," Sam holds firm. "She's doing it because she wants to. It has nothing to do with you, just like everything else she does."

Higgs lets his eyes flick over to Sam for a fraction of a second, just enough to see that the other man's staring right at him. Reading his face like a book, marking every time the muscles in his jaw twitch, or the corners of his eyes crease in discomfort.

"And what am I supposed to do while she lugs herself around the globe? Just sit back and wait for it to go wrong?"

"You could start with an apology."

Higgs bites down on his lip and remembers the word he'd just screamed until it wouldn't come out anymore. It's not that simple; nothing is. He'd had something with Fragile, something a few steps away from friendship, and then he'd squandered it in one fell swoop. It's a bridge as ruined as the ruins of Middle Knot with nothing left to put it back together.

"What am I gonna do? Get down on my knees, grovel, beg for forgiveness? Like that means anything? Like it makes anything _better?"_

Higgs' fingertips graze the equation on his forehead—a constant reminder of just how easy it is to fuck someone's life up. His own, and countless others. He can feel the phantom sting of the chiralium-infused ink and the allergic reaction that left his skin raw for months afterward. _God particle,_ what a stupid fucking name.

"It doesn't matter. Everything I say may as well be bullshit. I feel _bad_ about it? Doesn't mean shit for anyone involved," Higgs swallows the pitiful sob snagged in the back of his throat. "I should feel bad about it, and you're gonna have to let me."

"You already feel bad about it. What else do you want to happen?" Sam grumbles with an edge to it. "You want to feel like this all the time? Feeling sorry for yourself over things you can't change?"

Higgs grits his teeth so hard that his gums start to hurt. _Fragile, forget you ever met me—_ he remembers that line as his mantra, like a prayer for absolution. How he'd written it on his walls countless times, even more on paper. He wishes it were possible, but the chances of that are even lower than her taking the jump on that day so long ago.

"I just wish she could forget about me. That we ever met, that I even exist," Higgs spits into the cold air.

"You know that won't happen."

The pain etched in Sam's face as Higgs turns his head is clear, mirroring his own. It fills him with the reflexive desire to reach out, brush the wild strands of brown hair back behind the other man's ear, drag him into his arms, anything. His hands stay at his sides. It feels like such a selfish desire, more for himself than anyone else. What comes next is the impulse to push Sam away.

"You deserve to know," Higgs mutters, tense under his rising pulse. "At the time, I didn't give a shit about what I did. I hated Fragile for getting in Amelie's way, for ever having me believe that things could be better. And in the end, all it was to the fucking _angel of death_ was the waste of a perfectly good nuke. I destroyed the only thing I ever had, and it signified _nothing._ That's the kind of person I am, Sam—a goddamn fool."

"If getting screwed over by Amelie makes you a fool, then I'm one stupid son of a bitch. Only let it happen my whole life," the words fall from Sam's mouth, bitter and cutting. "Sometimes I'm even stupid enough to feel bad for her."

"That's not—I didn't mean it like that," Higgs' voice comes out loosened and frantic. "You know what I—I'm sorry."

His last two words echo over and over, but through the ringing in his ears, Higgs isn't sure if they make any sound. He can't remember the last time looking Sam in the eye felt like something too painful to bear. Like the pale blue light reflected there will sear right through his skin.

"I don't—" Higgs stops and slides his tongue rough over his raw bottom lip. "Sometimes, I don't understand how you could love someone like me. All things considered, you should hate me."

"Higgs." Sam reaches over to angle his jaw, leaving nowhere to hide. "I knew everything about you before you came back. I know what you've done and why, and I'm never gonna hate you."

"Why?" is all Higgs can muster in answer, feeling the sob he's been holding back rattle in his throat as their eyes meet.

"Don't think you'd give me a reason to."

Sam brings Higgs in by the shoulder, nudging him over onto his chest. The tears come easy, seeping out hot into the fabric of Sam's shirt. It's not like the fit from earlier. This is a proper purgative cry that feels like the exorcism of deep-seated tension. Higgs feels nothing more than the moisture pooling out of his tear ducts and Sam's thumb rubbing gently into his back. He goes on sobbing until all that comes are deep breaths reaching down into his diaphragm. 

"You feel any better?" Sam asks, clearing the long spell of silence.

"A hair, maybe," Higgs murmurs.

There's the rattle of pills beside Higgs' head, and he immediately feels shame ripple down his spine.

"Did you take some of these today?"

"I don't think I have in a few days," Higgs admits, darting his eyes to the side. "May be a contributing factor."

It's not _real_ medication, they're herbal supplements, but that's as good as it gets. Getting a doctor in by Chiralgram is far too risky, all things considered. Higgs lets the two capsules full of some plant called _ashwagandha_ fall into his hand and wonders if it'll really do anything. Sam takes one himself, slapping it up to his mouth and swallowing dry. Higgs can't blame him.

"Water," Higgs mutters, then he feels like a real dick before correcting himself with, "please."

Higgs eases off Sam's chest and swings each long leg over the side of the bed. A headache and a sore throat, but otherwise none the worse for wear, past a scrape of embarrassment for overreacting.

Sam hands him ice water upon his return, and Higgs looks up with a sliver of a smile in gratitude. The pills go down smoothly, punctuated by a bitter aftertaste; the reason Higgs avoids them in the first place. Sam sits beside him, their shoulders knocking familiarly.

"Look," Sam says in a tone more serious than usual. "You should try talking before doing shit like passing out in the shower. That's how this works. I can't do anything if you don't say anything."

"Thought you'd be mad at me for snooping," Higgs admits. The memory of getting slapped for peeping at his uncle's monitor stings faintly in his mind.

"I was mad at you for not telling me," Sam mutters before breaking the fall with, "just for a second."

"Right, well, I can…do that."

"That's all I ask," Sam says, hand snaking up to rest at the base of Higgs' neck. "Help me help you."

 _You should ask for more,_ Higgs thinks but doesn't say. He feels cool condensation pool up around his fingers and agrees with the urge to bring the glass up to his forehead. It doesn't do much for the headache, but a little for his nerves.

"You got it," he murmurs before throwing back the rest of the water and setting the glass on the bedside table.

"I love you," Sam says, gentle and quiet. "And I know sometimes you don't wanna hear it. That's why I make a point of saying it so much. I'll keep saying it 'til you get it."

"Might take a while," Higgs frowns, neck bowed.

"Fine by me. Like saying it anyway."

"You're good to me," he says, straightening his back out so their faces are level. "Way too good."

"None of that 'I'm a burden' shit like I don't remember you holding my hair back and brushing my teeth a few weeks back."

Higgs snickers quietly at the memory, a slight smile tugging at his crow's feet. Sam smiles back, wryly asking, "What's so funny, huh?"

Sam's still beaming as his hand slides into Higgs' hair, gently pulling his face in close. The press of lips is gentle at the corner of Higgs' mouth, innocent until Higgs starts kissing back slow. He keeps the swell of his lips moving until all he's getting is wisps of facial hair on his tongue. A comfortable sigh and he lets his head ease into the space between Sam's neck and shoulder.

"I don't fuckin' know what I'd do without you," Higgs whispers, lips brushing against Sam's collarbone.

Time is lost, but it's well spent; Sam's fingers running a lazy line down Higgs' spine as their breath settles into the same pace. Sometimes Sam dips to whisper corny nonsense at the shell of Higgs' ear, making him laugh easily against warm skin.

"You think you can sleep?" Sam whispers down into his hair.

"Maybe after a couple drinks."

"No fucking way you're drinking."

Higgs looks over with a pleading half-smile that doesn't do him any favours. 

"Got another idea then," he says, the corner of his mouth twitching into a full smirk.

"If it's what I think it is," Sam gets up and pats his thighs, "let me piss first."

The anticipation of Sam's return already has Higgs stiff under the constriction of cotton without needing to touch himself. Headache and sore eyes be damned. He feels like he could use some time pressed up against Sam's body, remedying any of the leftover hurt from earlier in each other's arms.

Sam comes through the doorway minutes later, a kind smile as their eyes meet. _Sam,_ Higgs thinks to himself in the voice he's saved for the man and no one else. If Higgs believed his legs would carry him, he'd meet Sam halfway and kiss his face until he's out of breath.

At the edge of the bed, Higgs presses his forehead up to Sam's stomach, clutching his waist like a woeful sinner seeking benediction. "I want it soft," he says, figuring he has nothing to lose. "Do whatever you want, but make it soft."

What Sam wants is to lay Higgs back on the bed, broad hands sliding over the bumps of his scarred ribs. Sam's shirt comes off first, his father's dog tags falling cold over Higgs' collarbone. Higgs lets his head fall back, letting Sam's fingers spool his unraveled parts back together.

"Like this?" Sam asks, low and gravely before sinking to kiss a discoloured mark on Higgs' collarbone.

Higgs can't find the right words to answer, just an enthusiastic nod and a light moan as Sam sucks down his sternum. Sam's hands trail down Higgs' sides, nudging the hem of his pants down. Higgs catches the hint to lift his legs quickly. His cock comes free, aching hard up against his stomach. Sam comes back up to lick into Higgs' mouth, their noses catching messily as Sam gets out of his sweatpants with one hand, letting them fall forgotten off of the bed. 

"I'd do anything," Higgs breathes through kisses. "Long as you asked."

"Just enjoy yourself," Sam murmurs. "That's all I want."

The beat of Higgs' heart rises in his ribcage as Sam presses his full weight over his lithe body, fitting his legs between Higgs' own. Sam cradles Higgs' head with his hands, bracing him as he works into a slow grind with their hips flush together. Sam's cock slides up against his, slips into the dip of his hip bone, and hard against his belly.

Sam's face is sweat-damp and rosy already, eyes half-lidded with focus as he continues to rub slow against Higgs' body. Scruffy, grey, and wrinkled, yet still so _beautiful_ it floors Higgs every time he looks at Sam like this.

 _"Shit,"_ Higgs gasps in one drawn-out syllable breathed against Sam's nose. 

With his other hand still bunched up in Higgs' hair, Sam reaches between them to fit both of their cocks into his fist. Then it's all kissing and heavy breathing with no words, just the plateau of pleasure peeking over the horizon. Higgs tries to get a leg over Sam's back to bring them closer, but there's no purchase to be found. He settles for arching his back, rocking his hips up in tandem while his hands rove all over Sam's back. 

Higgs thinks about the countless handprints lining the other man's body fitting in with his own scars—about their mismatched skin melding together like patchwork. Then Sam's dropping down to rasp over a scar on Higgs' neck, tongue gliding slowly over the bump of it.

"Jesus," Higgs hisses through his teeth. "Ain't got much longer in me."

"Go ahead, I got you," Sam rasps, and Higgs can feel the words reverberate against his chest.

It's mere seconds from Sam's promise that Higgs lets himself go, drawling Sam's name honeyed and hot into his mouth. His breath comes in shuddered chokes, hips jumping when the grip on his spent cock doesn't slacken. Sam looks at Higgs in a daze through batting eyelashes, hair damp and wild as he strokes himself to completion using the slick provided by Higgs' come to get there.

Higgs feels like he could cry, croaking out some incomprehensible babble of curses while the head of Sam's cock rubs ruthlessly back and forth against his own.

"I need you," Higgs pleads as he reaches up to pull Sam's face down. Words loaded with much more than the desire for a kiss.

Sam's lips crash into his hard, softened with the familiar brush of whiskers. Higgs just cranes his neck back, opening his mouth to swallow Sam's hitched groans as he comes. It feels like it lasts a lifetime, one long, lazy wave washing over their bodies and taking everything along with it. Higgs lets his body fall lax, and Sam collapses beside him while they both catch their breath in the stupor of joint denouement.

Sam reaches over and snags the box of tissues, recently moved from the dresser to the bedside table for easier access. He wipes himself down first, then spreads a broad palm over Higgs' stomach to clean up the copious mess there. Higgs yelps and chuckles under the tissue as it catches on the line of hair below his navel. Sam wads it up once he's finished, bringing back his arm to throw the ball in one clean arc into the trash can.

"Hey, nice one," Higgs remarks in spirited awe.

"I've still got it," Sam smirks and slips his arm over Higgs' shoulder.

Higgs rests his head on Sam's chest with his hand seeking out the other man's heartbeat like a lifeline. It's there, calm and slow under his palm, calling him back to shore.

"I love you too," Higgs says, cheek pressed up against Sam's chest hair. "Didn't say it back earlier. Sorry."

"You're forgiven," Sam laughs breathily, and Higgs wonders if it's for more than just that.

He figures it a futile wish, at best.

* * *

A familiar dream catches Higgs in the arms of Morpheus, and some nights he comes to expect it. He hardly remembers what his own Beach looked like now that all his dreams feature this one with clouded blue skies. Sometimes there's a slight variation; sometimes it's the exact same as the first time. He's on his back and the sound of the waves comes first. Then Sam's weathered hand is in his, and when he speaks, Higgs cannot answer.

This time Higgs doesn't snap awake. He comes to, but his eyes remain closed. Sam's chest is up against his back, and the rise and fall of it leads Higgs to full consciousness. The pain from last night burns in his eyes as they open, and _everything_ sets in all at once. The email, the hot water hitting his eyes, and the way it all resolved and came back together.

The sound of another person breathing is usually enough to tide Higgs over when he wakes, but sometimes he needs more than that. It's a case of the latter as he reaches over his shoulder and taps Sam awake with a persistent tapping index finger.

"What's up?" Sam mumbles through sleep.

"I had that dream again," Higgs says as he lies flat on his pillow so he can follow Sam's expression.

"Oh."

"Yeah. Same old shit."

"Anything different this time?"

"Hm, not really," Higgs hums, smoothing his free hand over his stubble. "I'm on some Beach, and you take my hand. Same as always. Haven't seen my own Beach in a long time."

"What does the Beach look like in your dream?" Sam asks with fresh sharpness in his voice.

"It's not mine, I'll tell you that much. I should know, spent my fair share of time there," Higgs grumbles. "It's light, a lot _softer_ than mine. A slightly overcast blue sky, calm waves…" he stops to smell the air as if recalling the scent of salt. "I know it's not my Beach, but I feel like I'm supposed to be there. Like there's no other place for me to go."

Sam's eyes open wide, and Higgs can see the pieces fall together in his mind. Similar to the dream, Sam places his hand into Higgs' palm where their wrists are linked together over the covers. 

"Think that's my Beach."

Higgs inhales sharply in disbelief. "You saying we _share_ your Beach?"

"It's an idea," Sam shrugs slightly. "If we pick Heartman's brain about it after the meeting, he might have a better one. Beaches are his specialty."

The mousy man with glasses. Higgs remembers, even if he had a rather plain face. It would be impossible to forget the flash of that bright yellow AED in the darkness. That, and the way he scampered like a frightened animal whenever Higgs moved.

"That guy," Higgs says with a furrowed brow. "He seems scared shitless by me, but I've never seen him before."

Sam grimaces like he knows Higgs isn't going to like the answer. "His wife and kid died in a terrorist attack," he sighs. "Think it was before your time."

"Doesn't matter. Plenty reason to hate me regardless."

"Anyway,” Sam clears his throat. “I'm sure he'd be happy to try for an answer. Guy talks even more than you if you get him going."

"Alright," Higgs scratches at the rasp of stubble along his jaw thoughtfully.

A shared Beach would explain a lot—why Higgs no longer has a Beach of his own since the last clandestine meeting with Amelie. It would explain the recurring dreams too. Dreams of the _end,_ though they're not the apocalyptic ones he had before. Yet, it seems so incomprehensible and complex. One _ka_ per Beach, that's _supposed_ to be the rule. And if it is, they might be breaking it.

Higgs exhales deep and decides he doesn't want to think about it anymore, lodging back into the warmth of Sam's arms instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be taking a hiatus, not from writing, but posting for a while. Everything'll come out at once whenever I'm back so it could be quite a lot. Posting is just quite stressful and as hits go up, even more so 🤷♂️ But I'm still determined to finish.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to try to release a chapter every 1-2 weeks.  
> There's going to be quite a few music references in titles as well as the work itself because I listen to music endlessly while I write, lol. I'll probably drop a playlist or something when all is said and done.


End file.
